Blackberries

burst along the path where I used to push my babies. The three would stick out their chubby little fists and pick the blackest berries, staining themselves silly.

It's a new season, now. A new crop. I run the path alone, while my big kids sleep in.

But just to remember, I pluck off a berry and it rolls on my tongue for a second, and I close my eyes and taste those sweet days of yesterday.

Divided Attention

This summer, I've realized that:

One of our kids is "watch me! watch me!"

Another is the one we have to be watching.

And the third is the one we want to watch, but can't, because we're watching the other two.

First Place Winner!

It's the day after the day I decided to retire from writing, when I hear from the Pacific Northwest Writers Association that my adult short story, Bakersfield Baptism, won first place in the 2009 Literary Contest.

I thought it didn't have a chance.

It's the only adult piece I've ever written. And I didn't make it to the awards ceremony two weeks ago; instead, I went to my cousin's beautiful wedding, where she invited me to read a piece of magic from The Alchemist, and where two of my three kids threw up on me.

But Bakersfield Baptism had power. I knew it. It's a camouflaged personal story: How could a woman ever live with the loss of her child, if there were anything she could do to prevent it? What would be her vessel for forgiveness?

The two critiquers raved about the 14-page story. One was really, truly, deeply affected.

Before I had sent it in, I read it aloud one more time. To Dominic. Who cried. This writing stuff is tricky. Not the writing exactly, but all the other stuff.

Look for a sign, I told myself in bed last night.

And here it is.

Now I need to think about what it means, and what to do with it.

Thank you, PNWA, for the hope. For giving Gracie Mae a living chance. I love you.

The End of the California Dream

So I'm driving near Sacramento with my dad last night and we're getting all kinds of honked at and flipped off for going slow or not gunning it right as the stop light turns green, when I tell my dad that California has completely lost its sense of humor.

I mean, when did the surfers and skiers start taking themselves so seriously here?

All these folks in their designer sunglasses and their mammoth SUVs are scuttling along frantically to get to their tanning appointments and personal trainers and their kids' Kumon classes. They're checking their watches and furrowing their brows and tapping their horns, with one foot on the break and the other on the accelerator.

They are definitely not smiling.

It has to be the recession.

Sure, these former affluenzics have had to trade in their boats to make the mortgage. And due to furloughs, their summer vacations are drearily extended. Retail is almost non-existent. Plus, the construction industry has all but died, minimizing the good times at PF Changs and all but extinguishing trips to Puerto Vallerta.

But the folks here are still alive. Their kids are healthy. And the plastic surgeons' doors are wide open.

The one great thing about California, I told my dad in the middle of 7 PM traffic, used to be its ability to laugh at itself. Hollywood had shown the world that we were silly and we knew it. We were anything but hypocritical.

Before my dad could say anything back, though, a big black Escalade with a "Greenpeace" bumper sticker laid on its horn , then cut us off.

Gatsby-ing It

Lizards and manzanita and red dirt mean only one thing: desert!

And everyone here in California has a pool. So the kids and I have been pool-hopping!

We're having a good time. And we're getting tired and tan.

Reunion's tonight. Am hoping for more of a glamor than troll look.

Watch me do a triple flip off this diving board!

Second Best

All the fun people are packing for L.A.

I'm not going, because it's my 20th high school reunion (shout out to all Falcons!).

But when Dave laid out his fire and contracting schedules the other day, I crammed the kids in the car and we headed for Sacramento.

First stop: the Lego exhibit at Turtle Bay aquarium and museum in Redding. I'll tell you, that Nathan Sawaya is a real artist of The Brick!

Since we were the only ones there, (everyone else must've been in the Sue dinosaur exhibit we'd seen in Portland), the guide gave us a personal tour. He showed us the optical illusions: an eye in the middle of some Lego people, and the word "Tomorrow" written sideways into a computer screen.

After that, we hit up the Lego-building classroom. For two hours. Dominic left behind his signature pirate skeleton skull, Daney made a chair, Rees had a space craft going on, and I put together a frog face.

Then we checked out the butterfly room. Instead of celebrating the thousands of winged creatures around us, my two littles were inconsolable over one dying moth.

So we drove to Auburn, where we checked out the limit--50 library books (hee hee, I've kept my card all these years!) And after belting out a few rounds of Rock Band with my brother, Mac, my sister, Amy, and her daughter, we hit the hay, Bon Jovi's "Livin' on a Prayer" playing for eight straight hours through my dreams...

All this, not quite as fun as mixing with the YA heroes in L.A. But way better than scrambling up eggs for three starving kids all day. For sure.

Perspective

Over the weekend, I had the chance to see the world through the eyes of a 17 year-old boy.

My brother was here for a wedding, and he and I hung out a lot. We took walks, got coffee, and spent a half-day lounging around, discussing the meaning of life.

This is a boy who, like his friends, snowboards and mountain bikes and watches "The Office" and has four more months before deciding where to apply to college.

But unlike his friends, this boy has no mom. He hasn't since the week before his sixth birthday.

And yet, he is wise beyond belief. Inquisitive. Deep.

He's wondering if he and his girlfriend will stay together when he moves south in a year. He's worrying about finding purpose.

He's comparing himself to his older brothers, and asking himself if he stacks up.

It was refreshing to see that after this young person was unplugged--from satellite TV, from his X-box, from his cell phone and his iPod--there was a soul-searching, free-thinking human with a calling for compassion.

He wants to be happy, and to live his most meaningful life.

And he's doing just that. A novel in the making.