I promise you...these pictures were not a "set-up".
I put two pumpkins on the ground, ready to carve...and this is what happens (It was hilariously too funny to pass up a photo-opt)

Last night there was a bad accident in front of my apartment. They blocked the street-both ways for almost 40-45 minutes. I was emailing my friend and listening to music with headphones in, but I still heard the accident- even with the music in my ears. There were screeching brakes and then screaming to slow down. The panic of an emergency is felt throughout the area even if there is a separation through walls, an apartment. There's a cross walk on the street from my apartment complex to the market place (stores, jamba juice, petco, etc.). It seems like a group of people were walking across the cross walk and a car ran into them. They probably were not even thinking they were in danger- walking. Yet it was bad. A girl lay in the middle of the road- motionless. The ER crews arrived and they worked on her for almost thirty minutes before loading her into am ambulance. Another person lay against the sidewalk. He was responsive but also was taken away in the ambulance. A group of students stood across the street, clustered at the bus stop, waiting to go to class or the library. They were witness to it all. The driver's car was jammed into the sidewalk, fishtailed from the road, trying to stop. The cops were interviewing people. Other's came out of their apartments in pajamas wondering what was going on. Clusters formed. The curiosity of human nature is beyond me. I am at fault. Part of me is curious and wants to know what happened, I feel sorrow, I feel guilty for looking, I feel shaken up by the images. Why are people so drawn to see something like this? Is it the uncertainty of death?
Jaime was curious about the whole thing. He couldn't sleep all night. Restless he grunted and growled. He barked at the door. I took him outside thinking he would need to pee, but he stood facing the cross walk and barked at nothing with his hackles up. Dogs know. They have instincts. I am convinced Jaime knew something was going on there. He could smell the washed blood from the road. The soap suds collecting in the gutter. I worry. I worry about the family. I worry about the people that were hit. I worry about the driver who has to live with this.
I searched the news but find nothing. Just as the incident was witness to so many people it disappears. The multiple people and dogs that are now part of the experience, may never know the people or learn what happened, are shaken-stuck-question human nature.

My last day of being 24 and I am exhausted. The last week I have been at the Tomales Bay Writers Conference. There was no time for anything but reading and writing. All my work has been pushed aside, my sleep has been compromised, and now I am "catching up". All my students are emailing asking me when their midterms will be graded. I have not even started on the pile. Sigh.

It is odd to sit here and think this is the only time in my lifetime I will ever be 24 years old. Some author at some point once said something like this.... You can never stand in the same water in your life. He, I remember it being a he (perhaps one of those existentialists), was referring to a creek or river. The water is constantly moving due to the current so when you stand in it, the current rushes by, and within a split second the water will be different-never the same again. Somehow on my last day of being 24 I think of this metaphor. I reflect on life being like a creek or river, the water being time- every living second or moment.

Tomorrow when I wake up I will be 25. There is no stopping time no returning to the past. I'm all ok with this though. You see on Saturday night I had this vivid dream. In my dream I was five months pregnant and I felt the baby kicking for the first time. I could swear to anyone that I can tell you exactly how a baby kicking feels. The dream was probably one of the most vivid experiences I have ever had without ever experiencing the act of pregnancy myself. I woke up and thought I was pregnant, was excited, then realized this is not a possibility since it was time to change my tampon. Then I thought about my dream and about getting older. I had a moment of yearning, a moment of being sad that I am not pregnant. I thought how I am turing 25 and how I am still not published, still not pregnant (my mom was my age when she had me), and still have the whole world to explore.

Then I thought about the river or the creek and the water. I thought how there really isn't anything sad about turning 25. Life moves on. These things that I have not accomplished yet should not be compared to my age. Even if you get older and there are still things you are waiting for, wanting, you need to focus on the current water you are standing in because that moment will never be the same thing again. I might not have a book in my hand, I might not have a baby in my belly, but I have things and have accomplished things that brought me to this moment in the creek. A moment I will never experience again but will add to all the moments that become the river of my life.

So in reflecting back to all the things that happened to me in the 24th year of my life- here are my moments I will remember, the moments that have passed but will allow me to experience the new moments in life- the new currents, the new water that only comes because of what has sped past:

-Mushroom Hunting was a high light of turning 24. I hunted my very first mushrooms on my 24th birthday when I was able to wake up in my favorite place in the whole world: Mendocino. Then later in the year many more successful mushroom hunts followed. Mushroom hunting became one of my favorite hobbies- something that connected me to my cultural heritage, my family, and a place I love.

- I started graduate school and completed a very intense first year. I felt tired all the time but more accomplished than ever in my life. I realized writing is something that makes me feel better than anything else in life. I love every moment of school and am learning more than I ever thought I was capable of learning.

-This last week when I worked with Dorothy Allison, author of Bastard out of Carolina, she told me... Writing is the BEST poverty there is because of the feeling that comes along with it. She then proceeded to tell me that my story was "A Fine Mother Fucking Piece of Work." It confirmed to me that writing is what I am meant to do.

- I celebrated a wonderful holiday time with my family filled with drinking, happiness, jokes, and love

- I went to Napa for the first time in my life and experienced the joys and pitfalls (hangover) of wine tasting.

- I spent some of the best time with my best friend that I have known from childhood. I experienced her lovely and perfect wedding and was able to share so many moments that only reaffirmed to me how perfect our friendship was and has come to

- I went to a wonderful writers conference in Mendocino and met an agent that gave me hope that one day I just might have the material that could become published

- I went to costa rica and had a journey of a lifetime

-I also did two very hard things this year: I learned how difficult it was to say goodbye to members of your family: Pablo's sudden death and then making the decision to put Brown Boy to sleep.

I have had the year of my life. 24 was good. 24 was a year I think I have matured more than ever. I am excited for 25 and I am ready to see what the current has in store for me this year.

As much as I love school it has started to cross my mind that in June I need to have something lined up to do. Unless I stop writing my thesis and fail on an attempt to stay in school longer.

As much as I love class, writing, and school work...I don't think I can do the whole Phd thing. But I also hate working in an office job.

Here are my top job choices:

Unrealistically I would love to travel the world, everything paid of course, and write food reviews and books.

That is dream job #1

Dream job #2 is living in the forest/mendocino and writing all day long- everything paid of course.

Since both of those jobs are probably not going to happen...here are two choices that seem somewhat attainable and perhaps a possibility...(well really probably not possibilities, but they would be awesome places to work for)

College of the Redwoods- in Fort Bragg- is hiring a Creative Writing professor. This is rare. Most city colleges only hire english professors for comp. lit. I only meet some requirements though...I will have my masters....but I also need something published. Perhaps I can bypass this or get something published.

Second job...well...there are no open positions, but this really really is a lovely publishing house that I would kill to work at. Probably the only job I would agree to sit in an office for. It's called Ten-Speed Press. They have a children's book division called Tricycle Press. This is where i would want to be. http://www.tenspeed.com/?zenid=fac29086a9c8428ebb7319791e6f3d36
Plus. It's in Berkeley.

It's official.

Next quarter I am scheduled to teach my own class. Tuesdays and Thursdays 4:10-6pm. It has it's own crn number, is in the schedule of classes, and everything. Chordas, M. is the listed instructor. I am so excited and nervous all in one. This weekend I need to choose two text books I will assign my students then I need to work on the syllabus. I need a book that is more instructional on the craft of fiction and then a anthology of short stories. I am choosing 30/30- 30 short stories from the last 30 years for the short story collection...but I need to look at a few more craft books before I make my decision. I like Bird by Bird by Anne Lammott...but I want to make sure there isn't anything else out there.
How Exciting!

I used to say at a certain point of the evening I was done with school- no more- I shut down and couldn't produce anything worth it. Now it is different. Now I count the hours of non-sleeping and strategically try to pack it with alternating subjects- writing, reading, teaching, grading, planning.

Grad school is the most time consuming thing I have ever done. Not only is it eating all my time, but here are some other things I have developed along with school 24/7:

- I have acne worse than ever in my life- completely stress related- and there is no product that will make it go away.

- I got my first gray hair (how is it fair to have gray hair and acne at the same time?!?)

- I now drink almost daily. Alcohol. It calms my stress levels

- I don't have time for much of anything- I use my "free" time to write.

The good thing about grad school is that I am completely happy. I have never written so much in my life. This is such a good thing. I'm writing on average twelve pages a week. This is huge. I used to write twelve pages in a month, at the most. Writing makes me feel good and I realize there is no other time in my life I will be able to have this time and money to just write.

Teaching is going ok. I am more confident every time I teach and I realize I am pretty good at thinking on my toes when standing in front of the classroom. It is crazy to look at my students and realize most of them were not even alive in the 1980s. I guess grad school makes you feel older.

Even though I make sacrifices- I still try to have some down time where I can relax. This weekend I had to give up going to SLO to visit Palina, because of grading and a faculty reading where I had to introduce. Yep. I stood in front of a whole lot of people, including the chair of the english dept. and spoke into a microphone. I think I am getting better at it, because today I received an email saying I did such a good job they want me to introduce an author at the Tomales Bay Writers Conference next week. I'm going to get nervous all over again, but the more I do it, the better? Right?

Well I took care of my responsibilities and then was able to watch one of Philippe's water polo games. I was so happy to go. I feel guilty that I have never seen one of his games until now and we went to the same college. They are very fun to watch and I can't wait to see more.

Here is a little of some other story I have been writing. The last one I posted...well the last I wrote about the kid that runaway, he made it to Costa Rica thanks to a ride from Junior and he robbed a family. That was that story. Here is the new one (it takes place in Lebanon) and is just a teaser.

Human Tradition

Nim pulled her head scarf snug against her face, opened the door of her family’s single bedroom flat, and walked out into the market to fall in love.
She expected her mother to call her back into the flat from the window with rusty bars, she thought her father would rush outside and walk sternly by her side. Instead Nim was swept into the market’s crowd of forbidden Lebanese customers who were shopping for weekly vegetables, kibbeh, figs, and tobacco. Leaving her home was not acceptable but Nim was tired of watching the market and wanted to breath in the kicked up dust, smell the heat of the people walking closely to each other, and feel the sense of power that came along with walking on her own.
“Ahalan was sahalan” welcome and welcome vendors would call out to her as she slipped past familiar stalls her family often purchased oranges, lemons, or minced lamb from. She didn’t realize it would be this easy and couldn’t imagine when she would return. After turning two street corners and down an alley she spotted the small table arranged under the crooked sunflower printed umbrella. Bashir stood under the umbrella dunking a ladle into the clear bowl filled with purple liquid, pouring it into paper cups, and handing it to thirsty shoppers.
“Out on your own?” he asked Nim who slid behind the table next to Bashir. His breath smelled like milk and cloves. It was unbearably hot. Nim felt like the market stalls and narrow streets were closing in on her.
“Can I have some jallab?” Nim nodded her head towards the bowl containing the cold liquid. Bashir always made more money than his father selling jallab. Nim’s parents were convinced it was because he still looked like a boy and all the fathers with young daughters were interested in introducing themselves. Even though he was nineteen he still did not have a speck of dark hair on his chin and his face was pale and smooth like a shell found on the shores of the Mediterranean. His slanted blue eyes were a contrast to Nim’s deep jade colored ones. Nim was two years younger and had a face that was dark olive and rough. It wasn’t a secret that Nim and Bashir would be married once Nim became a woman. Nim was thin, petite, and half of her mother’s friends were convinced she was cursed because she hadn’t started yet. Nim didn’t tell her mother that each night, nervous to discover her fate was near; she peeled away the layers of her silk garments and praised Allah to find clean white panties. Bashir was like a brother to her and the thought of marrying him made her nauseous. She would try today though. She would try to look at him differently, with excitement, and forget that they were once children together.
Bashir grunted and pushed a cup filled with the purple liquid towards Nim without even looking at her. Sticky liquid rushed over the side of the cup. Leaning against the stone building that the table backed-up into, Nim gulped the grape molasses and rose water in three sips. “Are you going to drink like that when we’re married?” Bashir crossed his arms and lifted a nostril.
“Are you going to let me walk the market on my own?” Nim crumpled the paper cup in her hand and threw it at Bashir’s chest. Laughing she ran from behind the table and back into the welcoming throb of the market-goers where she crashed into someone’s back.
A cloud of dust rose as Nim hit the ground, chin first. Her crooked bottom row of teeth hit her top row as her stomach lay still against the dirt alley floor. After a pause, the crowd continued to walk around Nim. Husbands hurrying their wives, wives wiping the snot of their children’s faces, teenagers walking loyally behind their families, barley hitting the top of Nim’s head with a basket full of oranges. She could hear Bashir laugh with a grunt and then the fast constant pour of liquid into cups. Jolted, Nim lifted her head, meeting two unfamiliar rows of perfectly white manicured toes that stood before her.

Fall has arrived. The cool weather is bringing anticipation and excitement for mushroom hunting. We booked a place for New Years in Mendocino. I can't wait. School has swept in and is keeping me busy. Workshop is critical, detailing, yet inspiring. I have been teaching two discussion sections which are going well. Sometimes it is hard to get the students to talk, but I find that I can think on my toes and make connections with our texts faster when I am standing up in front of a class. Improve is how I like to see it. All of my extra time goes to writing my thesis. I have to turn in 10 pages EVERY week. It has been a challenge, but it is good for me: forcing me to write.

Last week at the Davis Humanities Institute (where I work ten hours a week) we had a fall reception. Of course I was assigned the job as the bartender:


Jaime is enjoying the cooler weather in my parents backyard with Sam:




This past Saturday I went with Lisa to San Francisco to relax. We had delicious Indian food for lunch, watched the LoveFest Parade, listened to some music at the festival, ran into Palina, and did some shopping: