Dormant

Sometimes it looks like things are a little sleepy here at Divergent Pathways. But whenever my blog goes dormant, it usually means it's doing the sleeping for me. Because I'm not sleeping much at all.

Here are a few of the things that are currently keeping me from sleeping (not counting the THREE dinner parties I hosted last week):

Author Haven Kimmel

1. Haven Kimmel. A couple of weeks ago I had a brief (as in, eight-minute) lunch (the library brought her in, and I was among the first in line for tickets—possibly the only thing I've been early for in recent history) with this favorite best-selling author. (If I were less mature I would follow that up with seventeen exclamation points.) Haven—who is completely delightful in person, just as you'd imagine—afterward, at the book-signing, actually asked me to send her the manuscript I'm writing. (Oh, what the heck: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) Opportunity of a lifetime! So I'm frantically whittling away at my second draft, hoping against hope I can have something great to send her, so I don't BLOW this phenomenal invitation!

2. Tell Me Who I Am. Six of my essays are being published in this collection, a book scheduled to come out in March. The other writers are stellar and it's an honor to have my work nestled beside theirs. I also volunteered to add the cover art and a handful of interior illustrations to the mix. (Just so you don't think I'm completely insane, I offered to do this BEFORE the Haven Kimmel opportunity presented itself; otherwise, no way. But I'm keeping my word.)

3. Story at Home Conference. I'm speaking at this event, March 9-10, in Salt Lake City. It encompasses several of the somethings I'm passionate about: Storytelling, Family History, Blogging—and the combination promises to yield something symbiotic and wonderful. I'll be speaking about Balance—which actually made my husband LAUGH when I told him my topic! But I assure you I'll be honest and forthcoming about my failures, as well as my one or two successes. Please join us! The December discount package is still available! (Again, I committed to this BEFORE the Haven Kimmel thing; but I'm keeping my word, and questioning my sanity.)

4. Jeff's schedule and projects. Mr. Wonderful is working on a couple of super-secret new media projects right now. I'll let you in on the secret as soon as it's safe to tell. Plus post a link or two. In the meantime, think MOMEDY (mothers and comedy) and know that I'm trying to sleep vicariously for him as well, since he gets home at, oh, roughly 4am most nights. (Notice that the juxtaposition of "a.m." and "night" is an oxymoron.) Busy guy. But that's the price I pay for being married to a handsome, hilarious genius. (And Jeff's speaking at Story at Home too.)

5. Our 12-year-old is singing along to a catchy tune whose chorus is "Black-on-Black Murder." I even caught myself humming the chorus last night. What the--?!?  When did MURDER become an acceptable topic for mainstream teeny-bopper music? I'm ready to take out my own homicidal tendencies on a few music industry execs right now! I looked up the lyrics online, and to their credit the song is protesting racial violence and extreme wealth. But still, how uplifting a message can a song deliver that starts out, "Bloody, bloody MURDER?" (Speaking of Kanye, if you want a good laugh, check out this video instead.)

Just writing all this put me in such a tranquil state, I had to go take a nap. I dreamed I was on a trip, and I was completely unprepared. Couldn't find my paperwork, lost my airline tickets, forgot my luggage and had to rush back for it, didn't pack enough snacks and had to raid the airport's stash. I'm noticing a theme here.....

Can you see why I'm losing so much sleep right now?! I do try to stop in and visit your blogs as often as I can, although I'm not leaving as many comments as I used to—which, frankly wasn't a lot to begin with. But—and I mean this—I would LOVE it if you'd send me a link when you write something spectacular or revealing or hilarious that is NOT TO BE MISSED! Because even when I'm dormant, I hate to miss out on the action, especially when it's your best work! Please email me when you post something you'd like me to see and comment on. Anytime. Even 4am.  :)

Nostalgia on Auto Pilot

Yesterday I passed my old car on the freeway. It wasn’t my EXACT old car. But it looked just like it -- same body style and color as well as make and model. And I felt this inexplicable fondness as I followed it up the highway. It even made me a little wistful, but not sad. It’s just that every time I see another bluish-greenish-grey Honda Pilot on the road, or even in a parking lot somewhere, I still see us. I see our family. Our life, changing lanes right there in front of me.

Taken on my birthday weekend, an impromptu trip to the Grand Canyon, circa 2005.

I see our trip to Newport for Thanksgiving, our trip to Los Angeles to see Earth, Wind and Fire at the Hollywood Bowl, a trip to Colorado to explore the Garden of the Gods, and a handful of trips to Sun Valley, Idaho for family reunions. I see us house-hunting and making a big, interstate move. But not just the big stuff. I also see a hundred trips to grandparents’ homes to rough-house with cousins. I see us piling all Josh’s belongings in--literally filling every inch of space from the floor to the roof--to move him home for the summer. I see the back crammed with art supplies, ready to take me off on a painting adventure...to Wyoming, California, Cayucos, Kayenta....wherever the muse awaits. I’m amazed that there can be so much nostalgia attached to one car.

But then I remember my very first car: a spanking-new Toyota Celica, gunmetal gray and shaped like a bullet. It symbolized freedom, independence, success. I bought it right after I got my first real job as a designer. Jeff and I did most of our dating in that car, and we drove it back and forth from Salt Lake to Los Angeles so many times we had every stretch of I-15 completely memorized. The Celica was also our honeymoon getaway car (after we washed off the shaving cream and streamers and oreos). 

And once, I spilled a quart of homemade ice cream in the trunk. I promptly cleaned it up, not realizing some had seeped under the mat and into the wheel well. In the full swelter of summer, it quickly created the foulest stench imaginable; like vomit on steroids. Yet I couldn’t find the source to save my life. Or my gag reflex. Once we discovered the epicenter of the stink and vacuumed it up, we tried to disguise the remaining odor with one of those cardboard tree-thingies from the car wash. The scent was called “Spring Magic,” which we quickly learned was a euphemism for “retch-triggering old-lady perfume gone viral”. It smelled even worse than the original odor it was supposed to mask. We still remember, because it made us so nauseated we finally had to pull off the freeway and throw it out. 

And then I remember how quickly the Celica disappeared. Early one morning we were on our way to stake choir practice. Francis Dauzat came out of nowhere, still on his pain medication from last week’s surgery, with a patch over one eye, and turned right in front of us, allowing no time to stop. There we were, a mass of mangled steel and broken glass, but no one was hurt -- not even the baby our friend Karen was carrying inside her. I remember calling the insurance company and the agent responding, “Frank again?” That’s not a good thing when you’re on a first-name basis with the folks who process insurance claims. And just like that I lost some of that freedom and independence, replacing it instead with a 4-door Mazda, and motherhood.

But I don’t miss that sporty little Celica quite as much as the white Subaru Wagon with the red and blue stripes on the sides. My heart still skips a beat if I see one of those babies on the road. Because that was the white stallion my prince rode in on when he came and swept me off my feet. That car meant, “Jeff is here.” That was the car I saw parked in front of our house when I was came home from a date with a different guy. (Total Ginger Grant/Eva Grubb moment.) As soon as my date dropped me off I ran searching for Jeff. And fortunately found him. That was also the car that met up with my Celica at the exact time at the exact same intersection. We both instinctively stopped right then and there and jumped out of our cars, and met in the middle of the intersection, falling into an embrace, followed by The Kiss That Could Stop Traffic. Little did I know, that same car, just seven months later, would be our wedding present from Jeff’s parents. Years later, long after we were married, my heart would still skip a beat whenever I saw the Subaru pull up, because it meant Daddy was home from work. It meant “Jeff is here.”

And now? I love our new car. Love it. (Except for the neck-contorting “head rest,” which is actually tricky sales copy for “torture device.”) I love the way it handles, and the clean interior, and the fancy backing-up camera. But I’m not nostalgic when I see it pull up. It’s a little too new for that. So far, I just love that the way we acquired it felt like a total miracle! And although that’s a terrific start, I know we haven’t made nearly enough memories in it yet. But we will. 


Linking up to Just Write with my friend Heather of the EO.