Today I worked on part of a client’s dissertation (final) paper. I also worked on the first of Ian’s master’s degree papers. Kinda funny.

I also contacted a book packager that sent me an editing exam more than a year ago. I never finished the exam because I was too damned busy. I got in touch with them to find out if I would be permitted to complete it. They said sure, so, maybe eventually that will turn into a new client—if I can bother to take the f—ing test — without wasting too many billable hours.

Kinda sounds like I’m back in school, doesn’t it?
It sure would be nice if some of those checks I’m waiting for would arrive.

My parents left yesterday afternoon to drive to SF and then fly to New Zealand. After a couple of weeks there, they’ll jump over to Sydney, Australia for a week. They’re coming back on July 14th.

My parents can complain about the most amazing things. For the last two weeks, I’ve listened to my mother simultaneously bitch about the fact that it’s going to be winter down under, and that it’s hot in Sacramento. (My mother can complain about any type of weather at all, and does just about every single day.) She complained about how much of a pain it is to pack for a 3-week trip, and about how being away will set her back with regard to preparing for fall’s semester classes. Honestly!

My father splurged on himself for this trip. (You see, my parents go somewhere every summer for 3-4 weeks and they take turns choosing the destination. This time, Dad got to pick.) Dad decided that while in New Zealand, he would go hunting for “red stag.” Dad’s been deer hunting many times in his life, and as far as I know, he’s never bagged one. I grew up knowing that “deer hunting” was a euphemism for going to the woods with the guys and getting drunk for four days. Anyway, he’s suddenly got grand visions of shooting this regal animal and shipping a rack of antlers home to hang on a wall somewhere. I know for a fact that my mother will not allow him to hang antlers on the walls of her home.

When Dad first booked this hunting adventure, he called me; he was really excited and blurted out how much it cost. I nearly threw up when I heard the figure. He was giddy as hell and sort of tickled that he was spending that much dough on a hunting trip for himself. All I could think of was how we were down to the last green thing in the pantry—canned green beans—and how Ian’s payday was a week away. I told him, “Dad, I don’t want to know how much your vacation is going to cost.” I felt a little better when he said, “What if I never have this chance again?”

So for a while, Dad was excited. But as the day of departure got nearer, he started to get stressed out, starting working crazy hours to meet deadlines and satisfy clients, started worrying about how his lazy staff would merely phone it in the entire time he would be gone. Dad told me two days ago that he wasn’t really looking forward to going to New Zealand and Australia. Jeezus!

Like I said, they can complain about anything. And yet, they joyfully packed up their shit and left town. They technically arrive, with time changes, on June 23, even though they left California on June 21.

I’m going to miss them. Lemme know if you want to go swimming. 😉

We’re having a small kid-oriented celebration here tonight. I’m excited!

The Summer Sun
by Robert Louis Stevenson

GREAT is the sun, and wide he goes
Through empty heaven without repose;
And in the blue and glowing days
More thick than rain he showers his rays.

Though closer still the blinds we pull
To keep the shady parlour cool,
Yet he will find a chink or two
To slip his golden fingers through.

Above the hills, along the blue,
Round the bright air with footing true,
To please the child, to paint the rose,
The Gardener of the World, he goes.

We went to the Folsom Zoo last Saturday for X’s 3rd birthday party, which was fun. (Thank you Bs, for providing the opportunity.)

I have ambivalent feelings about the Folsom City Zoo/Sanctuary: It contains only rescued animals, which is something I deeply respect. Most of them are native CA animals who have had one too many run-ins with humans. The zoo’s most exotic newcomers are two Siberian tigers who were rescued from a warehouse of death and cruelty in Southern California two years ago.

On the other hand, as a zoo dedicated to educating humans about the importance of humane and compassionate interaction between humans and animals, it leaves a lot to be desired—It’s really tough to see many of the animals, and seeing, I think, is the key to appreciating and honoring them. And that’s not just because they are shy or sleeping or hiding.

The way the enclosures are built at Folsom Zoo, there are multiple fences in between the zoo goers and the zoo residents. The fences are typically small-guage wire fences with rectangular holes to peek through, but sometimes there are cyclone fences behind the rectangular-hole fences. If you can imagine diamond-shaped holes layered under rectangular holes you will probably see what I’m talking about. It’s next to impossible to see many of the animals.

The zoo is modernizing, however. They have a spectacular bear enclosure with plexiglass, so you can really see the bears well. They’re working on a wolf enclosure now. The mountain lions have it pretty good too.

Lucas learned to skip with both legs today at my parents’ house while my mother was babysitting. For about 6 months prior, he could only skip on one side, which was sort of a skip-clomp-clomp pattern. He is thrilled with his new locomotion skillz.

Lucas alternates between being totally out of bounds and sweet as can be. The mood/behavior swings are wild and rather exhausting. The book says we should either ignore the obnoxious stuff (boasting, name calling, spastic body motions and wild words) or go with the creative flow as far as possible—perhaps farther than we would naturally be inclined to go. This can sometimes mean countering each exaggeration with an equally far-out exaggeration. In some ways, doing so feels manic and inconsistent, especially when all I really want him to do is to shut up. But the truth is matching wacky with wacky is sometimes doing the trick and allowing Lucas to complete a whole bizarre cycle: Then he can sort of back himself down off the ledge before he gets into major trouble. It’s hard to explain. It’s definitely a case of choosing our battles around here these days.

I haven’t managed to bill any hours yet today. I just spent a number of hours updating my CV. Talk about boring! I did it so I could send it on to my uncle and hopefully get some more work from his press. But, I’m jazzed that it’s done now, and should capitalize on the fact that it’s finally current by shooting it off to a bunch of publishers—Which means cold calling. Which I hate. I am pleased to note that after nearly three years of freelancing, I have a sizable number of projects under several impressive categories to boast about. That first year on my own, my CV didn’t look that hot. Now it sort of does.

I also learned that because I’m on the development team for one book, the client will most likely keep me on the team for every book in the three-book series. That means (almost) gauranteed work until into 2008! Music to my financially insecure ears. Here’s to never working corporate again!

I found out from Jackson’s mom the other day that Lucas and Jackson (and possibly others) were comparing penises at school last week. Some, you see, are snipped and others are not. The observation from one boy was that one penis “looks like a finger.”

Ah … social skills…

The last few months (February/March/April/May) have been slower than I would have liked them to be, and the surplus I had built up prior to that is now spent. One of my major clients has not given me any work in two months, which is quite unusual. I have big tuition payments looming on the horizon. I’ve been beating the bushes looking for more work.

A couple of years ago I edited two books for the religious press that my uncle runs. He put my name forward and two of his editors hired me. Then nothing–no communication. That was OK, because I didn’t make bank on the projects and I had plenty of work coming in at the time, so I wasn’t worried. However, after pinging the editors a couple of times and receiving no replies, I started feeling insecure. My recent dry spell and panic about cash flow finally motivated me to contact my uncle again, to see what was up and why I had fallen off the radar. It took a lot to work up the necessary courage to write this to my uncle:

“In 2004 and 2005 I copyedited two books for (your Press)(Title 1 by Author 1 and Title 2 by Author 2), but nothing since then. Although I’ve tried contacting both (Editor 1) and (Editor 2) periodically, I’ve received no replies from them. During each of those projects, I had the impression that (Editor 1) and (Editor 2) liked my work. Now that so much time has passed, the insecure part of me wonders if they weren’t happy enough with my work to continue giving me projects. The confident part of me hopes that perhaps job changes, changes in the publishing climate, or perhaps my being out-of-sight-out-of-mind is the reason I’ve not heard back from anyone. So, the short of it is I’d like to work for your press again, if possible. I just wanted you and your editors to know I am available for either editing or proofreading projects.”

My uncle replied:
“I’d love to get you back onto the copyediting roster. Both (Editor 1) and (Editor 2) have left to go off into freelance land, so I’ll be glad to pass along your stuff to our new editors. We’re just beginning work on our Spring ’07 books, and I see several that could work well for you. Can you send me your current vita to pass around to everyone here?”

I am much relieved to hear this news! And grateful that he is willing to put my name forward to his editors again. I was afraid that after inquiring, my uncle would be forced to tell me that his press didn’t find my work up to snuff, and that it had put him in an awkward position. Nepotism, and all that.

So, maybe things are looking up. I don’t think I’ll ever get rich working for his press but it makes me feel good to have that door open. I’m just so crappy (meaning fearful, lazy, and shy) at marketing myself.

[Insert pipe dream here: Maybe someday I’ll have the dough to hire someone brilliant like Kimkim to do sales for me.]

Today I lost an earring. I know that a lost earring is a totally princessy thing to bitch about. And it is, and it’s gonna sound even more princessy when I describe it. But if you bear with me, I’ll get to the psycho stuff later.

My parents gave me a pair of earrings for my birthday. Today was my first time wearing them. They are posts with rather large gemstones in them: rainbow topaz, set in white gold. (See, princessy, right?) They are beautiful and different. When you turn the gems, they sparkle with pink and purple and gold and green and turquoise lights.

I don’t buy stuff like this for myself. My parents seem to have decided that I need semi-good jewelry. (I think they feel sorry for us because we still have hand-me-down everything.) Anyway, their princess likes jewels, and so, periodically they give me nice pieces. And I love it.

I got home from the gym tonight and discovered that one of the earrings was missing from my ear. I retraced my steps, called the gym, even drove over there to look in the aerobics room for it. No earring.

Here’s the psycho part: I cried like a baby for having lost this earring. I sobbed. Something inside me snapped — something hooked into all my normally lidded feelings of worthlessness and pulled them all out into the open air. I felt like a child who had done something terribly wrong and disappointed my mom and dad. I berated myself for my irresponsibility, for being a loser, for not deserving to possess anything so nice. I thought, My parents gave it to me. How could I lose it already? What a fool I am. I don’t appreciate all the things people do for me and give to me. I don’t deserve any of it.

I went home again after checking at the gym and scoured my house. I found the earring a few minutes later. It was on the bed where Lucas and I had a tickle fight earlier this afternoon. See, I panicked when it was gone, and totally forgot we had played on the bed. I even found the earring back among the covers.

So, now it’s all better. Crisis averted. I don’t have to admit to my mom that I lost it. But wow — what a lot of emotional crap the experience dredged up from inside me. I still feel awful. Guilt sucks.

Lucas informed us last that he and Tidoo have opened a restaurant called North Balcony. It’s open on Saturdays and Tuesdays, and it serves “American food”: spaghetti with onions and meatballs was the only dish we could get him to reveal. Hid did say that they let him and Tidoo serve the food.

Lucas is 7 years old these days. Sometimes he’s 17 or 19 or 6. Frankly, I can’t keep up. Over the last few days, he’s had a birthday every day. First he was 4, then 5, then 6, and now 7. He tells everyone. He’s very boastful and can’t be told anything at all because he already knows everything. Just ask him.

On Wednesday we worked on a gift for Ian for Father’s Day. We painted a birdhouse with a rainbow of colors. Then I hid it away where Ian wouldn’t find it. Thursday night at dinner, I asked, “What should we get the grandpas for Father’s Day?” Lucas blurted, “We painted a birdhouse for you, Dad!” So much for secret keeping.

We are going camping this weekend. It should be fun—I’ll let ya know.