Friday, July 24, 1998

        I think everything's sorted out now with the Javascript. There are still little bits of it here and there, but I don't think it will cause any problems. If it does, though, please tell me. I always want to know when things don't work right, and I want to try to fix them.

        I can't believe I've been off six weeks, I really can't. I said that to Bob the other night and he said it's like anytime you're on vacation. You get on the plane with a week stretching out in front of you, but before you know it you wake up one morning and it's time to go home.

        Obviously I've accomplished some things, so I can't say that I have no idea what I was doing all this time. I've become much more familiar with Javascript; I've gained some familiarity with Bryce; I've worked with several HTML editors, enough to feel comfortable with them. I've done my little craft projects--sanded, painted and varnished several small pieces, made a few rubberstamp art cards (and sold some, by the way), read several books, saw a few movies, did some shopping. Cleaned the house. Worked on the website and created a few new pages, played around with the digital camera, got a good start on a collaborative project that may turn into a book one day.

        Set out like that, it does seem like I got quite a lot of stuff done, it's just not as much stuff as I would have liked to have gotten done. When I first knew that I was going to be off for so long, it seemed like forever. It seemed like all the time in the world.

        I did have a good time. I loved it. I loved being able to do the work that's important to me, being able to stay up late and sleep in, mess around with my craft projects, basically do things at my own speed. It was good for me. But I think I'm ready to go back to work now.

        My friend Micki was supposed to be in town this week (she lives in Hawaii), so I kept waiting for her to call but she never did. I had thought maybe we'd get together and do something today, but when I hadn't heard from her, I decided to go out and see a movie. I've been wanting to see Smoke Signals, but it's not at any of the theaters around here, only at the sort of arty theater in Westport. I think the only time I've ever been there was when Barb was in town once and we saw Red, subtitled. Or maybe it was White. It's a part of town that has a lot of little cafes and bars and art galleries and boutiques, but it's not really someplace you want to be after dark. It seems like there's a murder down there every couple of weeks. But I figured it would be safe enough during the day.

        There were maybe a dozen people in the theater, so that was nice. And I loved the movie. It's based on a book of short stories, The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven, by Sherman Alexie. The story is about a young Indian man (Victor) who travels from the Coeur d'Alene reservation to Phoenix with a friend to pick up the ashes of his estranged father. They have some somewhat mild adventures along the way, but much of the story, which is mainly about Victor coming to terms with his father's having left the family, is told in flashbacks. Gary Farmer, one of my favorite actors, plays Victor's father (I remember him best as Philbert in Pow Wow Highway, although recently I was stunned to see him playing the police chief on an episode of Forever Knight).

        I thought the movie was wonderful, but the one false note was the laughably bad wig that "Victor" wears after he cuts off his hair in a symbolic gesture. He had beautiful, long dark brown hair, but brown, and slightly wavy, not the sleek, straight black hair you normally think of an Indian having. Once he cut his hair, though, it was thick, completely straight, and blue-black. And awfully smooth to have been hacked off with a pocket knife. I found it sort of hard to watch the rest of the movie without focusing on his hair. Weird. It seemed so obvious to me that I began to wonder if there was some symbolism there, too, that I was missing.

        Micki called while I was gone, of course. She hadn't actually gotten into town until last night. We're going to try to get together tomorrow afternoon.

        I fixed my breakfast this morning, a bowl of cereal and a glass of grapefruit juice, and put it on the table, then went back to the kitchen for something else, a napkin maybe, and when I turned back around, Pyewacket was helping herself. I shooed her away from my bowl, got a little bowl and put a tiny bit of cereal in it for her, and she ate a little, then decided that, really, thanks just the same, what was in my bowl was much better . . .

        My favorite cereal is Just Right, and every time I pour a bowl lately I have this sort of Abbott and Costello "Who's on First" conversation in my head: "What's that cereal?" "It's Just Right." "No, not how is it, what is it?" "It's Just Right." "No, no, no, what is it?" "This cereal is Just Right." As I was writing that, I remembered that that was basically the premise of the Nut 'n' Honey commercials--"What are you having?" "Nut 'n' Honey." "Okay, fine, don't tell me."