I really like doing this little Year In Review thing-a-majig, so here we go!
I started going to Loka Yoga, the studio that is now my yoga home. I loved Alice immediately, and she kicked my ass just as quickly.
We also took up rock-climbing!
And I went skiing by myself! That was amazing.
I got a fish! Harper! (He didn't live that long — I think I forgot to tell you he died a few months later. Sigh. RIP.)
The Whoreshoes broke up. RIP the Whoreshoes, too.
Made Lala's Shooter sweater:
I edited a lot. The recession hit our house and Lala lost her job. Heavy sigh. But I did make a sweater I really loved (Colette):
My book title became How to Knit a Love Song, which I liked at first, and now I ADORE. We went to Bolinas and Pt. Reyes for our anniversary, which was wonderful. We spent time at the beach with wet, sandy, happy dogs:
I made a LOT of bread. I ran the worst Bay to Breakers ever (TOO HOT TOO HOT TOO HOT) with my sister Christy.
I GOT A NEPHEW! Isaac!
(Strangely, he didn't come out looking like that. But that's the picture closest to hand.)
I ganged up with a posse of hard-livin', gun-totin' (see the site for photographic evidence!), good-writin' women, known as the PensFatales. I still don't really know how I got tapped to be part of this group, but every day I'm thankful that I did. I blog there every other Tuesday, and those seven women are the smartest, savviest, kindest, most driven writers I know. I'm honored and so happy to be a part of the group.
My car got stolen. And then returned with extra gas, a pair of binoculars, a crap-load of Watchtower magazines, and a car cell-phone charger (which worked for my phone, and which I'd been needing). SWEET!
I hiked a lot with Clara in the hills. (I need to do that more. Huh.)
* Reaffirming to myself again that romance is the bomb. Romance is where it's at. Romance sells more than science fiction and mystery combined. Nora Roberts sells more than Stephen King and John Grisham. And as Sarah Wendell said when asked why feminists should read romance:
It’s a 50-plus-year-old industry comprised mostly of women writers operating their own businesses and producing a genre about women’s self-actualization, pursuit of autonomy, and acquisition of sexual agency for an audience made mostly of women, who buy over $1.4 billion dollars worth of books a year. No, no, nothing feminist or even subversive about that.
Harriet died. We had a very big sad, and we have it still. She was the very best dog ever.
Strawberry Music Festival was all about the Avett Brothers (because I've been able to listen to no one else for about a year a half now. I'm rather pathetic, really).
I got my advanced reader copies and posted my first video of opening The Box. WOOT!
Fall came. I love fall. I might have mentioned that.
Something I didn't talk much about was that we took Mom out to sea, as she'd requested. Sixteen months after she died, we finally tossed her ashes between the United States and New Zealand. I dreaded it, my friends, dreaded it with everything I had inside. I felt ill for days leading up to it, and fought a migraine on the drive to the City.
But Bethany had a sailor friend who took us out, and it was amazing. It was a little choppy making our way out through the Bay and under the bridge, and there were a few times that I was terrified (I seem to have inherited my mother's nervousness of sailboats — I was raised on and off them, but as a kid, one of us usually had to bail. I'm just saying). But once we made our way into open waters, the swells got larger and more easily ridden. Nicer. Christy played Edith Piaf. We spoke. I dropped the dedication page from my page-proofs into the water, and we tossed her ashes and some roses.
Then Dad sat on the front of the boat and played his mandolin and the three of us girls sang all the songs we grew up singing. I'm not kidding when I say that other sailboats caught up and paced us, listening. The guy who was captaining us asked if I wanted to sail under the Golden Gate. Still a little nervous, I declined. Then he said, "Really? You might never get this chance again." THOSE ARE GOOD WORDS TO SAY TO ME. I sailed under the Golden Gate, all the way to Alcatraz, singing Kingston Trio songs with my sisters and my Dad. It was the best memorial ever, and it was nothing like a funeral. It was a celebration.
Also, I went to the Pigeon Point hostel to work:
December is always hard to write about because it just happened, so you've just heard about it. Lots of writing! Eating! Yoga! There is some new ukulele obsession, which is EXTREMELY fun.
Family: New baby! BEST NEWS EVER! It was very considerate of him to be born on Lala's birthday, also. A very nice gift. The loss of Harriet was a huge blow. But lots of love in many ways, all over town. And this will be a GREAT YEAR for Lala and her New Job which will be exciting and challenging and fun and will probably make her a millionaire. I'm just guessing. Can't wait to find out what it is! Yay!
Writing: I have brought a book to completion, and I mean ALL THE WAY, from turning it in, to copy-edits, to page-proofs, to ARCs, until the job is well out of my hands. Only one more step remains, and that's holding the completed version in my hands, and that'll happen soon (SOON! March 2nd is the on-sale date! This year! Finally! This year!). This is the year I'll be in a bookstore near you! And that's super exciting.
Bowling: I don't bowl. I just thought I'd throw that in there. Maybe 2010 will be a year of bowling! Who knows?
Wishing you the very best year ever. HERE WE GO! xoxo
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