Christmas Plans

Sigrid insists that I come back to San Francisco for Christmas. A chilly breeze is whistling through windows of office and see lonely flakes of snow flying around leaden skies, so readily agree. Call Dave to tell him of plan. He says that he's just gotten of the phone with his mother and that she is insisting that we come to her house and he would like to go see her. Am shocked and ask him Why? (Last trip included awkward dinner with Dave's mother and her new beau, Dave's 9th grade math teacher. Both Dave's mother and math teacher drinkers and dinner--at nice Little Rock restaurant--loud voiced, spilly, and argumentative--or rather, dinner not those things, but Dave's mom and beau. I sat silent throughout meal practicing Tibetan meditation technique of Being with the exhalation of the breath--not very successfully.) Try to gently remind Dave of this, but he says that he Loves his mother's cookies. Cookies are made not by mother but by housekeeper, but let this detail slide. Dave says stiffly that we will talk about this later. Agree. Spend rest of afternoon thinking about one's attachment to family. Sigrid certainly not easiest person to get along with, not to mention husband, but do desperately want to go see her and it isn't just because Elizabeth is growing up quickly. Ask Oliver if he is going home (to Oregon) to see his family and he says brightly O yes. He has 4 brothers and 3 sisters and their kids, and his parents, and they all meet at the family farm. Ask him if his girlfriend is going too. No, he says sadly, she doesn't like clog dancing. (!!)

Winter

Cope with extremely chilly weather today by ordering, picking up from diner, and then eating at desk: cheeseburger, chocolate milkshake, and side of fries. Meal delicious, but turns to sand in mouth when against better judgement click on link on news blog that takes me to alarming story about Sumatran forests being chopped down and burned. Panic eat, and am busy shoving fries into mouth full of burger when the Contessa enters my office wrapped up as though getting ready to take horse drawn sleigh ride. Ask her if it is still cold outside. She ignores this, surveying the greasy pile in front of me. Whoa, she says, you really went whole hog! Fries too! Become very angry and ask her coldly if that is all she came by to say. She replies, No, not at all. I actually came by because I haven't seen you in forever and I miss you. Feel extraordinarily guilty and can only say, O. Also, the Contessa adds, I was wondering why you never write your blog anymore. Tell her that I have been very busy. She waves this--clearly idiotic in her view--excuse away. Feel self becoming angry again. I have been busy, I tell her, which sounds weak. Besides, I didn't even know you read the blog. She says, Yes I do. It Is Funny. Ego properly stroked, I admit to her that I've been feeling a bit at sea vis-a-vis the blog. I am no longer a secretary and I am no longer thirty-years-old nor have I been either of those things for quite some time. So it feels weird to post on a blog called TYOS. That doesn't matter she says, look at The Jesus and Mary Chain, look at Maroon 5--do those band names have anything to do with the content of the songs? Tell her that a blog is not a band and posts are not songs (certainly not, she says, shaking her head in horror, that's not what I meant at all) and that I would like to come up with a new, more apt and inspiring title. She says she will Think About It.