My friend complained to me today about getting no sleep last night, and I shuddered, as I've had my bouts with insomnia. Well, I must have caught it from her, as I woke up tonight after being asleep for only an hour, hot as Hades, and couldn't get back to sleep. All I can think is that God gave us women hot flashes to keep us awake so we can get more done during our mid-life years. I was so tired today, I can't imagine any other reason why my body wanted to wake me up after only an hour's sleep.
My laptop balked today when I tried to download the pictures from our 9-day trip to California; apparently the 39,623 items already in iPhoto dating mainly from 2003 (hey, that's only 3,445 photos/videos per year, or 287 per month, or 9.4 per day) are hogging the hard drive and don't want to share. The deferred maintenance on photo management has now bitten me in the butt. I guess there are worse things than being a shutterbug. I try my best to cull the downloads as they happen so there aren't a lot of duplicates, blurry shots, etc., but nearly 10 "keepers" per day for 11-1/2 years has formed a ginormous photo glacier that's crushing the hard drive. I'll have to explore my technological options. (Reforming my trigger-happy ways is simply not up for discussion at this point.)
I suspect my predilection for photographing my family has its roots in an underdocumented childhood. As the youngest of six children, I have precisely ONE snapshot of me as an infant (lying on the couch at 2 months of age), in addition to the hospital newborn mugshot and a couple of studio portraits with my brother Richard when I'm about a year old. There is another series of studio portraits with Richard when I was 4 years old (about the time I entered permanent foster care), two snapshots with me at age 4, another few taken on the same day at about age 7, and two from when I won the school spelling bee in 4th grade. Then nothing until junior high, with maybe another dozen snapshots from 8th grade through my senior year in high school. Not counting school portraits, that's about 30 photos from birth to age 18, clustered at certain ages with gaps of several years scattered throughout.
My children will never wonder what they looked like at age two, or what they did on their birthdays, or what their childhood friends looked like. It's a gift I have to manage so it's not so unwieldly that they will never be able to slog through all of them. But it's my gift that says "I was there, honey. See? I saw you. You mattered, and you were never invisible to me."
By the way, Disneyland was better than anticipated after a 35-year hiatus, and it was fun sharing it with the girls. We rode Pirates of the Caribbean right off the bat, and for me everything after that was gravy. Oldest daughter talked me into riding the big rollercoaster with her at CA Adventure, the aptly named California Screamin'. I told her it's only because I loved her, and she owed me. (Shoulder massages and foot rubs were suggested.) It wasn't so bad, except the part at the beginning where it accellerates to about 60 mph in a few seconds and my eyeballs felt like they were being pushed into the back of my skull. I actually rode it with her again the next day; it was much more enjoyable than Space Mountain, which I'll never opt to ride again. Sailing into the stars in the darkness at the beginning was fun, but then it got much too lurchy. My 6-year old daughter had bug eyes at the end of that ride, and looked uncertain whether to cry or laugh, but I smiled big and told her she was "Awesome Possum" for riding it, and the look of uncertainty vanished and she smiled big back at me. She declared it "scary fun."
We shared the Disneyland experience with Grandma and Grandpa, who also hadn't been in about a quarter century. Together we enjoyed the ambiance of New Orleans Square and the paddleboat
ride on the Mark Twain, and the good food at the French Market
restaurant. Overall, we were blessed with short lines, good weather, and good health, apropos of the happiest place on earth.
Another highlight of our trip was spending three hours at Will Rogers State Beach with perfect beach weather...mid-70s with a light breeze. We had the beach to ourselves, with only the occasional jogger or cyclist passing by. We reveled in the sand and waves while pelicans were dive-bombing a school of fish just offshore and five sanderlings and a lone dowitcher scuttled in and out at the foamy water's edge. An abandoned sea lion pup languished on the rocks in the rip-rap jetty nearby. We were told that the marine mammal rescue had been notified of its presence. It was young and thin, and flopped about weakly at times, but mostly remained still. My daughter was thrilled to be able to see one up close, but I suspected it wouldn't last too long; the marine rescue had been contacted that morning, and when we left at 4 PM, they still hadn't shown up. Poor little pup.
We made 16 distinct social connections in 8-1/2 days (including two days at Disneyland and three different hotels), so it wasn't much of a "vacation", but it was nice to reconnect with so many friends and family members. We visited with my 88-year old mother and two brothers; had lunch with my 70-something foster mother; walked the beach with my foster sister whose husband had recently committed suicide; met another foster sister at the park with her husband and 6 of her 8 children and endured a hailstorm and captured a duck while we were there; showed my daughter my old stomping grounds, including my childhood home where I lived for 8 years and the elementary school I attended, the jr. high school where I met her father and asked him to the 9th grade dance (he was in 8th grade, so I had to be the one to ask), and the high school from which I graduated 35 years ago; met for lunch with my sister-in-law, who hadn't met my youngest and hadn't seen my 11-year old since she was two years old; saw my old therapist, who helped me get my head screwed on straight after 14 years in foster care, and showed off the family to him; had dinner with an old artist/poet/dancer/theatre friend and her husband; had breakfast with the Indian priest who baptised my husband and me 12 years ago, our oldest daughter 11 years ago, and visited with our youngest daughter at her orphanage in India before we adopted her; visited our friends/godparents at their ranch with their 6 children and enjoyed a Friday Lenten supper and some musical interludes before taking off to rendezvous with our old church choir friends at their bi-weekly rehearsal, where we were feted with a potluck and wine and hours of making music together until nearly midnight.
We ended our string of social engagements at a park in Burbank near the airport the next morning, where we rendezvoused with my old teaching friend and her daughter and three grandsons. The boys are working child actors with parts in TV shows and major films like Frozen, The Lego Movie, and Wreck-It Ralph, but are still nice "normal" kids who had a lot of fun romping around with my two girls on the play structures.
Somewhere in there my husband also spent two long days at his business client's aerospace machine shop in Burbank, which the girls and I also got to briefly visit.
Now we're home, and I feel like I need a vacation from my vacation! But we hit the ground running, and four days in, on top of the normal school/therapy/dance/piano/critters routine, we've set up a chick brooder in my daughter's bedroom and have 12 little chicks slowly morphing into hens (and probably a few roosters; we got five straight-run banties for us---two Buff Brahmas, two White Silkies, and one Silver Sebright---in addition to 7 pullets---Rhode Island Red, Amber White, White Leghorn, Ameracauna, and Silver-Laced Wyandotte---for our daughter's dance teacher); I've helped my daughter plant dozens of seedling pots for her "Garden Gal" vegetable/herb start business venture; and I've written the newsletter for the dance studio. The fun never stops! But it sure beats the alternative. I can't imagine ever being bored.
Time for another shot at sleep...
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