How do I describe what I saw last night? There is no way to adequately put into words watching a grown man climb into a six-foot tall bubble-gum pink balloon to the tune of Also Sprach Zarathustra, and then proceed to bounce it around the stage to refrains from The Nutcracker. Words do not give justice to this same man wearing a bright orange jumpsuit, adorned with eighteen strategically placed bicycle horns, all with a unique pitch, and then doing various bodily contortions including squats and chicken-flapping of elbows to honk out classical music in two-part harmony.

I don’t know anything about the performer except that he was French-Canadian, and he was one of many who come to Lakeside to entertain. This privately owned resort has nightly concerts and acts, just one of umpteen things available here. I’m here for a family reunion – an annual event for my mother’s side of the family that has been held in this same spot for decades. Each year the Hickson clan descends on Lakeside for one Saturday to catch up with distant relatives, meet the new ones, and share stores of family members absent or lost.

Lakeside is an idyllic little town. It’s the sort of place where one has no choice but to relax. There is an air of peace and safety here. Doors remain unlocked. Strollers and bikes cluster in front of shops and restaurants, unchained and yet unmolested. It is the kind of place that is perfect for any type of family – young children with more energy than they can handle; teenagers trying desperately to be cool; older couples long since retired. There are things to do if you want them – a tiny miniature golf course, courts for playing horseshoes and shuffleboard, the beaches of Lake Erie.

My family has not always managed to make it out here every year, and it is rare that all of us can attend. But this year we managed it, squashing seven adults and two tiny children into a rented summer cottage with lumpy beds and a screened-in porch perfect for enjoying the evening. My dad and I rented a tandem bicycle and we wobbled around town, laughing at our own lack of coordination. My nephew was surrounded by an influx of cousins whom he never knew existed til now, yet he joined them at play, and was carted around by the older ones. My little niece was passed around into dozens of arms for kisses and cooing, and managed to endure it gracefully, all the while charming the relatives with her wide-mouthed grin.

Yet through it all there are bittersweet memories. The last time we were here was four years ago. My grandfather turned eighty that year, and through some miracle, every single one of his descendants made it to Lakeside. He was dying of Parkinson’s, and we all knew that this particular reunion was too important to miss. He had his faults – quick to anger and it often came with a raised hand – but he was the only member of my family who had an educational background similar enough to mine to understand what it was that I was doing in college. That year we managed to talk briefly – the former chemist and the budding nutrition research writer – and he not only could make sense of my research, he was also able to ask questions. He was so old and frail, his body wasted into a brittle husk of what he had once been. It was almost painful to touch him, knowing that he was slipping away and despite my desire to get to know this man better, this would be the last time I ever saw him.

That visit to Lakeside was full of laughter, but there were also tears because we all knew what it represented. He died the following winter, and it was on the flight home from his funeral that my dad and I, stranded in the San Francisco airport for hours, talked about database programming and I finally decided to give this computer thing a whirl.

I wish I could have come earlier this year to Lakeside. I would have liked a few more days of a vacation that I didn’t actually need a vacation to recover from. This little town may not hold the same weight of memories from years and years of reunions that it does for my mom and her sisters, but that makes it no less special.

The man I spoke of in the beginning of this entry – the one with the pink balloon dance and the orange horn-suit. One of his acts was to play glasses, and by that I mean that he had a tray of wine glasses, all filled with just enough water to give each of them a unique tone when he ran a dampened finger around the rim. At the end of his act, once he emerged from the balloon and the entire auditorium had finished the standing ovation, he did an encore. As the lights dimmed, he pulled out the glasses again and played Amazing Grace, the crystal notes echoing in the suddenly silent hall. My eyes got misty again, although this time the tears weren’t from laughter, but from memories. How appropriate that he chose to play it as a finale for Lakeside, because Lakeside will always make me think of my grandfather. And it was my grandfather’s favorite hymn.

It is early morning as I write this and I am bleary from lack of sleep. I know that both my brother-in-law and I need sleep, desperately, but the presence of a toddler and a six-month-old in this little rented cottage will prevent us from getting any more than a few hours in what is left of the night.

I am in Lakeside, Ohio, a tiny resort town owned by the Methodist Church, located on Lake Erie. My parents have been here all week and they’re the ones who made the cottage rental arrangements. My two sisters – each with their respective child – flew out on Wednesday morning. However, both my brothers-in-law (henceforth referred to as Bil-1 and Bil-2…..1 being married to my older sister, and 2 being married to the younger. There.) and I had to work, so we couldn’t get out til yesterday afternoon.

We all flew into the wrong airport – my sisters, the Bil’s, and I. That was our first mistake, and it wasn’t really anyone’s fault. My older sister thought my Dad has said Columbus, when he really said Cleveland. Our second mistake, apparently, was in flying on United Airlines and making a connection in Denver.

Both Bil’s and I had planned to arrive in Denver about an hour before our connection to Columbus, figuring that would be plenty of time to meet and then wander down to whichever gate we needed to go to. Bil-2 arrived in Denver only fifteen minutes late. Bil-1 arrived nearly an hour late, but it turned out alright because the flight to Columbus was postponed another half an hour, so both of them had ample time to get there. I, however, arrived in Denver nearly ninety minutes late, and only the fact that the delayed plane *from* Denver was right….but I need to back up a bit on this story.

When I got into Sacramento, the flight monitors showing gates and departure times weren’t working. As usual, they had too few check-in attendants for the sheer volume of people trying to catch their flights on time. Throw in some angry customers who now have to scramble for alternate flights because our plane was (originally) supposed to take off about forty minutes late, and the storm begins to brew. I had my own reasons for impending panic. The car reservation in Columbus was in my name, I had no way to contact the Bil’s, they had no way to contact my dad, and if I didn’t make it to Denver and they didn’t realize that I wasn’t on that plane, they’d be stranded in Columbus for the night. So I was more than a bit relieved when the flight attendants announced, once we were airborne, that the flight to Columbus had been delayed. Even with the now-hour late start, even with the fact that we were to land at one end of the terminal and I’d have about half an hour to dash to the other end, I was no longer worried.

That is, until we landed, and then had to sit on the runway for t

It’s always nice to have a weekend where you can just relax, sleep late, and do nothing. This past weekend was not one of them. Not by any stretch of the imagination. Not, mind you, that I am complaining, because after all, it started Friday night with sushi and then a movie. The X-Men, to be exact. One couple managed to snag tickets for the premier of the movie in Davis, so we got to see it brand new. And it is fantastic! . I never read the comic books and I only saw the cartoon two or three times, so I realize I have no basis for comparison to what it ‘should’ have been. All I know is that I thought it was terrific. Of course, it had Patrick Stewart in it, so maybe I *am* a little biased (Yes, I watched Star Trek: The Next Generation faithfully, and any grown woman with her eyesight intact would agree that in that show, Patrick Stewart was a god….but anyway).

Saturday afternoon Richard and I drove to Berkeley because Bethy and Sabs – the strangers-turned-friends that we helped move in the rain a few months ago – were hosting a barbeque as a combination thanks-for-lugging-heavy-boxes, and friendly get-together for the area. Because the invitation did mention that we could bring something to grill if we wanted to, I did my normal worry that this meant we really *should* get something (It’s genetic. I can’t help it. I get the worry gene from my Mom, Goddess help me), so we swung by the produce stand that’s conveniently located near the freeway entrance to grab fresh corn on the cob, and a bag of English peas for the road. I should mention here as an aside that I adore raw peas, and it is too darn hard to find them in stores. It seems that they have a season about as short as pomegranates in grocery stores – somewhere around two days – and just to be evil, the grocery store likes to only put out a teensy tiny display and hide it somewhere. Anyway, we drove, shelling and munching peas as we journeyed.

Sabs proved his skills as a barbeque chef, and both of them outdid themselves with the spread of food we were presented with. They’ve done quite a bit of unpacking since we last saw their place (well, *any* amount would be quite a bit, since the last time we saw it was when we moved them in). We got to meet two of their cats. We sat around and chatted, and ate. And ate. And ate. There is something about food cooked on a grill, combined with great company and conversation, that makes one eat far more than one should.

Afterwards, the initial plan had been for Ivy and Otis – her ex-and possible future SO – and Richard and I to head back to my house that evening, with a slight detour into a rather noisy restaurant to have dinner. The noisy part was a requirement because I brought a game with me we intended to play while eating, and we figured that if the place was noisy already, we wouldn’t have to worry about adding to the general cacophony. After the barbeque, however, there was just no way any of us could even *think* about eating any more, so we ended up heading back to my house, and then going out much later for coffee, ice cream, and (typical for any time Ivy, Richard and I are together), much silliness and laughing. Sunday the laughing and eating continued as we started the day with chai tea and waffles, continued the food-fest with some of Ivy’s truly delicious marinated fajitas during a game of AD&D that Otis began for us, and ended it with a pot of chocolate fondue and a plate full of fruit to dip. The prevailing theme seemed to be that every conversation got sillier and sillier and ended, somehow, on Ivy’s butt. Perhaps this Ivy-butt fascination has to do with the ‘moon’ in her nickname – I don’t know. Suffice it to say that it became one of those jokes that we’ll probably haul out over the years to confound everyone around us by laughing our heads off while the rest of our acquaintences sadly shake their heads and murmur platitudes about our decreasing level of sanity.

Besides the silliness, the food, and Ivy’s rear end this weekend, Richard and I got a chance to meet Otis. I’d met him before, twice, but the first time he was half-asleep, and the second time I was the one dozing off, so it was more of a wave and nod sort of affair. This weekend was a chance for us all to actually talk to each other – for us to get to know him, and for him to get to know us too. He seemed a bit hesitant at first – Ivy, Richard, and I together tend to be an rather odd trio and it had to have been hard for him to be dumped right into the middle of it – but he fit in just fine. She seems more relaxed with him, even though part of that could simply be the result of slipping into something familiar and comfortable. And it’s good to see that they both seem to want to take this slow and make sure they’re doing the right thing, whether they go further, or simply remain friends.

It wasn’t a restful weekend by any means, and that wasn’t helped in the slightest by the fact that I gave in to the lure and ended up reading the new Harry Potter book Saturday night. I couldn’t sleep, so I just stayed up til about 2am to read instead. Back at work today I’m sorely missing the little coffee cart that was located in the old building. This new place has only the office coffee machines – and like all other office coffee dispensers, the coffee, while caffeinated, is only drinkable if you’re really desperate. And despite being so tired from the weekend I’m not quite that desperate. Yet. Although one more conversation that spirals into tush-talk and I just might get there…

There is a freedom with being a consultant in that I am sent to different places for varying lengths of time to do different projects. The best part about it is that it’s never the same thing twice. However, this flexibility comes with a certain price. As a consultant, I am always an outsider. In fact, it’s something that I have to continually remind myself of on the longer projects. No matter how long the project or how nice the people, I will never really be part of them. At the end, I always leave, and they always stay.

This, then, requires maintaining some sort of professional distance. We’re supposed to always dress just a bit nicer than the client, for example. Not too much nicer – after all, it’s important to fit in to whatever orporate culture exists on an assignment. But the dress code acts as a subtle reminder – to them and to us. Another thing to avoid is ‘moving in’. That means no stuff on the desk – pictures, plants, and other paraphenelia that would normally personalize an office.

I’ve been on this current project now for a little over six months – longer than any other assignment I’ve had in my years as a consultant. And I’m finding that in this project, it’s getting harder and harder to abide by the rules. I like these people I work with, and I like their company. They’re terrific co-workers and despite the logistical problems that come from normal growing pains when a company moves offices (and buildings), the work environment they’ve provided for us consultants has been definitely above average.

And lately I’m starting to realize that for this project, I don’t care about the rules any more. I already made it clear to my new manager that I do not intend to continue being a consultant. I told her that this would be my last project – regardless of the fact that I’ll most likely be on it til the end of the year or so – and I will do everything in my power to make sure that this is true. It’s an odd sort of freedom to think that way. At my project site, we’re in the new building now and it looks like we’ll be there for a while, or at least til I leave the assignment. So I think I’ll be bringing in some things. A picture, perhaps, and a plant. It’s not much, but it’s a start. A preview of what I want my working life to be at the end of the project. Back to my ‘real’ office that I only see on weekends when I pick up the mail. Back to the office where I already have plants and pictures and a shelf full of gadgets and toys that my office mate and I have collected. Back to the office where I have a name plate and I am not temporary – where it really is *my* desk and I don’t have to constantly wonder where I’m going next and when. Some people may think that consulting is exciting because of all the travel and the constant change. Not me. Not any more.

I admit it. I finally succumbed. Yes, I’m a Harry Potter addict. But at least I know I’m not alone.

When I first heard about the books, I didn’t give them much thought. It’s not that I have anything against children’s literature, but I’m not exactly a child anymore. Then I started hearing acquaintances mentioning how much they enjoyed reading their kids’ books. And then other acquaintances – childless acquaintances – started gushing, and besides, I was getting impressed, despite myself, over the popularity of these things among children and adults alike. We’re talking a book here. Not some mindless video game, or the latest must-have cartoon character plush toy. Books.

In other words, by this time I just couldn’t help it. I gave in to the lure of the fad. I borrowed the first book and after reading it in one evening, I was hooked. When I headed out to Atlanta for DragonCon, I spent the night curled up on Ivymoon‘s living room floor reading the second one, and the next morning as we waited for our delayed plane to arrive, I devoured the third one.

When I heard the news that number four was imminent, I was pretty happy, looking forward to reading it. However, despite how much I might love something, it’s not really in my nature to become a screaming fan (well, with the notable exception of dark chocolate. But that’s more of a dietary need than anything else. Ahem. Anyway). Back when I was in college, I dated a man who was hopelessly infatuated with the Beatles. When Paul McCartney came to town to perform, he camped outside the local Bass ticket outlet to purchase tickets to the show, and then dragged me along. In preparation for the concert, I got to listen to my tone-deaf boyfriend sing Beatles songs non-stop. When we got to the concert, he was beside himself. If he’d been younger and female, he probably would have tossed his panties onto the stage – that is how thrilled he was. Me – well, I’ve nothing against the Beatles, and some of their music isn’t too bad, but after being subjected to McCartney and Beatle tunes for weeks on end sung by a man who couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket, well, let’s just say that my enthusiasm – slight as it was – had waned significantly.

Back to present day. The book was scheduled to be released Friday night – or rather Saturday morning, to be more precise, at 12:01 am. I had absolutely no intention of waiting in line – I simply popped onto Amazon.com and happily ordered the entire quartet of books. However, I had no sooner completed the order when Richard mentioned that he wanted to get the new Harry Potter book for his niece…and that if we were going to get it in time for the birthday party the next day, guess what we needed to do. So we ended up at the local Borders, standing (or rather sitting) in line in wait for midnight. At least we managed to get a copy – judging by the sheer volume of people who showed up in that store vying for one of the 75 un-reserved copies they had left, I think we might have been one of the lucky ones.

When I got home this evening from a long day at work, the box from Amazon was on my doorstep, all four books inside. The goal is to save the extra-lengthy fourth book til I fly out to Ohio next week so that maybe I’ll at least have something vaguely entertaining to do on the plane. I’ll see how long I can hold out.

Oh. And just to pass the addiction along, I gushed enough at Richard that he decided he needed to read the books too. He’s just finished the first one and I handed him my brand new copy of book two as I unpacked it, so that he can continue in the series.

I spent Saturday and Sunday down with Richard’s family – including his aunt and uncle and cousins this time – for a combination three-birthday-baptism celebration. There was a tiny black furball to watch spaz all over the room as we played Yahtzee and Richard and his sister proved that apparently it is their family’s game (in other words, they kicked our sorry behinds). There was a barbeque complete with backyard cat assistant to the chef, and a tour of his aunt’s house where I was told I wasn’t allowed to take home the gorgeous painting of the white cat that hung in the living room (although I’ll bet if Richard had just distracted his aunt, I could have snuck that thing out into my car and no one would have noticed!). And along with the belly-dancing aunt and topless pregnant bridesmaids, now the wedding includes a parade of circus animals as the processional to the church. Although I did note that if tigers were involved, I had no problem with it. Heh.

We moved at work again, and it appears that this move is relatively permanent – or at least we’ll be here longer than we were at the last place. This time we’re in a converted warehouse in the middle of nowhere, with two resident roosters. We all have new phone numbers and people are scattered all over the floor. And the facilities are actually quite nice inside. Hey, I’m just excited that I finally have drawers and shelves to store things in. Big change from the last site.

Monday was a bit hectic as we dealt with network and air conditioning issues. First, they decided that since most of the cubes in our area have three people, they had to remove the middle shelves. This makes sense, except that they removed *all* of the shelves, and some of the cubes only have two people and already had stuff on the shelves. So now my cubemate and I have little sticky notes on the rest of the drawers and file cabinets reading ‘Don’t Take!’. Then they were getting complaints because people didn’t have network connections. These were coming, specifically, from the cubes with three people, which had only been slated for two network connections. One would think that one could jump to the rather obvious conclusion that if there were three computers sitting on the desk, complete with three desk chairs and three annoyed developers sitting in them, that one might want to consider putting in a third network connection. Obviously, one would be wrong. Well, at least for the first day. It’s gotten better since. I think. Of course, since I’ve been knee-deep in meetings all week so far, I just may not be seeing the issues as much. Although I have noticed that the temperature has stabilized in between common areas and meeting rooms – compared to the stuffiness of the first day, this is a definite improvement as well.

There is nothing quite like viewing one’s body, clad in figure-hugging spandex, in front of a three-way mirror under fluorescent lighting. What fun. Such enjoyment. Did I mention the fun? In other words, I went swimsuit shopping today. It’s one of the least favorite things for a woman to do – unless of course that woman happens to have the body of Twiggy and avoids looking in mirrors at all costs. We can spout our feminist ideals and our refusal to judge by the scale all we want, but when it comes to swimsuits, all of that goes out the window. With most other clothing, you can hide those extra bulges and bumps. Spandex is not so forgiving. I’d be willing to bet that if you put her into a swimsuit, even the most enlightened and hard-core feminist will still be surreptitiously checking out the size of her own rear end in the next available mirror.

In the room next to me was another woman trying on swimwear. I could tell by the muttered swears under her breath, and by the way she snapped at her significant other as she called him to the door to view her in suit after suit. Walking out, I gave the poor man a sympathetic smile, but I’m not sure he saw me. His eyes were pained. He was not having fun. Ah, true love. Richard volunteered to go with me but I was too nice. Swimsuit shopping is a solitary sport, in my opinion. Even going with female friends is a bad idea, unless all those friends happen to be in worse shape than yourself, because when clad in spandex, you just can’t help comparing yourself to the other spandex-clad figures around you. Ha ha, my brain shouts triumphantly! Look, she’s got a bigger tummy than you! It’s bad. Evil. And exactly why I refuse to do this with anyone but myself.

It’s been years since I’ve done this too. All that swimming in high school and college sort of gave me an aversion to chlorinated water. As much as I loved doing synchronized swimming, the thought of jumping into water now just isn’t quite so appealing as it used to be. Although I really shouldn’t feel that way – much like the Ugly Duckling when he discovered he was really a swan, the only place I’ve ever been remotely graceful is in the water. On land I’m more likely to run into walls and furniture (they jump out at me. Really they do!). In the water I am actually coordinated.

I did find a suit to buy. I was extremely tempted by a solid black one which, while it made me look like a fireplug with limbs, at least had the redeeming feature of being high enough in the back to cover the tattoo. The reason this feature was redeeming is because this weekend I’m off to spend time with my fiance’s family, and in another week or two I’m off to a family reunion – and as of yet, I don’t think any of them (his family or my extended relatives) know about the two extra cats on my back. But I passed on the fireplug suit in favor of one that, while low enough in the back to let the cat heads peer through, at least gives me the illusion of a figure, and the cute little attached skirt hides my rear. What more can I ask for than that?.

I’ve felt sluggish all day today. Back to work after being away from the office for so long – and it was hard to feel motivated. Of course, as I should have expected, I was greeted with another required reorganization of the project plan involving one of Microsoft’s programs that I am convinced was written not as an office tool, but as an instrument of torture. This would be Microsoft Project. It’s a deceptive little program. It makes you *think* you’re going to produce something useful, but the only way so far I’ve managed to get anything remotely productive out of it is to manipulate task assignments manually. Hundreds of them. Ugh.

Part of my sleep-deprived grouchiness stemmed from the fact that last night was an extremely late one. It was cold and windy – unusual weather for the Fourth of July in this area of California. We decided to make use of the Plot of Weeds and go out there to watch the fireworks, since it’s got a great view of the park where they do the show every year. Turned out it was a fantastic view, and I discovered another reason why it really is a small world. The owner of the boat parked to one side on my lot turned out to be the husband of an old synchronized swim team member from college, and so I found out that our neighbors on one side are his parents. I find it funny that despite the number of times we’ve been out to the lot at various times of day, we’ve yet to meet any of our neighbors-to-be, yet I know their children.

We had another gathering of the families – this time to watch the fireworks together. I think we spent most of the evening laughing. I take that as a good sign. Although I’m not so sure having the police show up as we were just finishing up the fireworks we’d been setting off outside my parents’ house was such a good sign, but it was humorous anyway. Luckily the policeman only issued a gentle warning that it was a bit late to be out being so noisy – although whether it was the fireworks we were setting off or the loud gales of laughter as a certain male member of the group (whose name I won’t mention because of course it’s not nice to poke fun at your fiance) demonstrated that even when provided with matches, lighters, and blowtorches, he just couldn’t get those pesky fireworks to light.

And on a completely unrelated note, my feline addiction provided an interesting side effect today. One of the guys in our group came up with a plastic sack of greens. Apparently they’ve got catnip taking over the yard, and for some odd reason he thought of me. Heh. Probably because he was there when I got into a joking dogs vs. cats discussion with a few of the others, I suppose. Even so, it was awfully sweet of him to think about that and the cats are, I’m sure, properly grateful. I set the bag down on the dining room table when I got home for just a few moments and it was swarmed. I rescued the sack, withdrew one large sprig, and then tossed out pieces and watched the furry horde attack. I even broke off a few fresh leaves, crushed them to get the scent out, and then contorted myself into a pretzel to stuff it back up on the shelf deep under the kitchen sink where Zuchinni-the-invisible-cat was lurking. I only knew he was there because my fingers touched fur. Later on, I checked back and the catnip was gone – and so was he. I can only hope that he enjoyed it, as I haven’t seen more than a brief glimpse of him since I returned from my travels.

If you’re the type that enjoys cleavage on display, well, there has certainly been a lot of it here at DragonCon….and yesterday Ivymoon and I decided that we should add to the mix. We headed out to the Starbucks we’d found the day before (it was real coffee and the food didn’t involve a buffet – a definite change from the way I’d been eating this past week with all these trips) – and got lots of stares as we sauntered into the coffee shop wearing full Renaissance garb. Of course, the businesses around the hotel are probably a bit jaded by now, since they’ve been dealing with people dressed in all manner of costume the past three days already. But the tourists just don’t know what to make of all us weird sci-fi/fantasy types.

High Reaches Weyr (from PernMUSH) had a lunch gather. The very patient and understanding waiter who helped us also took a pile of seven cameras and snapped group pictures as we posed. It was a good group – we had the weyrleader and the weyrwoman, the head steward, a few wing leaders and wing seconds, and the token resident (that would be me). We then returned to the Con just in time to bomb at Weyrfeud (a version of Family Feud based on the Pern books by Anne McCafferey). It might have helped if those of us pulled in at the last minute (I would be one of those) had been more prepared – it’s been at least 2 years since I’ve read any of the books! We all separated for a few more sessions, and then gathered again in the hallway to accumulate a small crowd and head off to dinner…and do a bit of recruiting on the way. A very nice woman just happened to be sitting there, and despite the fact that she’s involved in fan-fic and not online Pern gaming, we invited her to join us at dinner, where this motley assortment of Pern nerds were loud, boisterous, and silly, swapping stories of Pern-related RP, and egging on the two of us who happen to play green riders and who were sporting ‘proddy greenrider’ nametags at the dinner table.

It’s odd to meet people I’ve only known online. I’ve done it a number of times, but it always feels strange. This little group of strangers who’ve only spoken in text all of a sudden hanging out as if we’ve known each other for years. I know that there are those who think that the internet is a bad, bad thing, but I can only look at how it makes the world a smaller, friendlier place – despite the fact that those of us who lurk online might be a bit odd (okay, ‘little’ might be an understatement).

Today was a bit slower paced – probably more to do with the fact that by this point sleep deprivation had started to hit than anything else. There weren’t as many panel discussions I wanted to see, so a quartet of us headed off to the art show and then back to the dealers. There’d been this gargoyle I was sooooo tempted by, see, and well…he just had to come home with me for Richard. He turned out to be a heavy gargoyle. He wasn’t quite so heavy at first, but considering we’d checked out bright and early and then I was carting around my backpack the rest of the day – which was already heavy due to the presence of my laptop – the addition of a carved stone figurine didn’t help matters much.

At lunch everyone sat around and stared blearily at their food. I don’t think any amount of caffeine would have revived us. This convention has been non-stop all hours of day and night. Even after the sessions were done, there were drum circles by the pool and a dance that didn’t even start until midnight. Not that I attended either – drum circles just aren’t my thing, and usually by midnight there was a small crowd in Ivy’s and my hotel room, taking turns logging into email on my laptop, and staying up til the wee hours chatting. But by the time Ivy and I got to the airport, we were just about falling asleep on our feet.

I need a vacation to recover from this vacation. I have a sneaky feeling it’s going to take me a few days to catch up on all the sleep I missed during the past week and a half on the road. But despite that, I definitely want to go next year! I figure Richard and I will wake up in the mornings, wave goodbye as we head to our respective nerdiness, and then meet back up for dinner along with Ivy and whomever she decides to bring with her. And next time Ivy and I have decided we need to figure out how to ship swords back. The dagger fit nicely in my suitcase, but I’m not so sure I’d be able to get a sword in there. Hmm…

As if Las Vegas and Tahoe weren’t enough, Thursday I hopped on a plane bound for Atlanta for a short vacation. Neither Ivymoon or I had ever been to a Science Fiction / Fantasy convention before, so we figured it was about time. Despite nearly an hour delay for the plane, we managed to get there without incident, and then discovered the kindness (or perhaps I should call it exasperation) of strangers. We knew that there was some method of getting to the hotel where DragonCon was being held, and that it involved the regional transit system in the city, but we had no idea what stop to take. Apparently we were talking about this little problem a bit loudly (no big surprise when it comes to Ivy and I) so half a dozen people turned around to ask us where we were going and then to let us know which stop to take – even to the point of hollering ‘This is your stop!’ when ours came up. We thanked them, a bit sheepishly, and staggered off the train, laden with suitcases.

That night we didn’t do much except check in and register. Checking in was interesting. Prior to flying out there, I decided it might be a good idea to call and confirm. Good thing I did, since they had me down as checking in the day before….and even though we cleared that up over the phone, when I arrived, they had me down twice. So who knows what happened. At least we got a room, although it overlooked the lobby (the hotel is set up so all rooms overlook the ‘atrium’ lobby) so we got to hear the dim noise of the con, and the clamor of people getting on and off the elevators all night. I got my first taste of what it would be like when we walked into the hotel and I watched a small contingent of Storm Troopers walk by, followed by an assortment of elves, Star Trek crew members, and of course the swarms of goth types clad in black vinyl, and not much of it.

This morning, Ivy and I hit the vendors room. An entire conference hall stuffed full of tables and tables of things for sci-fi nerds of all kinds! We drooled over the weaponry (Well, I have been looking for a dagger, and there was one there that was perfect…and it would have been a shame to leave it there…), and picked out some gorgeous dragon prints, although for the first time since I left home, I had to think about someone else’s taste for artwork. I stared at one particular print of a dragon and her clutch for a long time. *I* thought it was wonderful, but would Richard? Finally I took a deep breath and bought it – he’s just as big a dragon fan as I am so I figured it was worth the risk.

We attended a number of sessions – some better than others. The Women in Gaming session was probably one of the best. It was an open discussion on the participation of women in the gaming world – computer, table-top, and live-action. The discussions were open and spirited, and it was refreshing to see that nearly half the participants in the room were men. The general consensus was that while we’ve come a long way, we still have far to go in how women in the gaming world are treated, or marketed to. As one woman put it (and the comment drew applause) – “I don’t mind if they use sex to sell the game. I’d just like it if they used sex to sell to *me*!”

There’s a large contingent of us from PernMUSH here, especially from High Reaches weyr, so we gathered up as many as we could and headed off to the Hard Rock café for dinner. Seven grown adults sitting around a table singing along with all the flashback 80’s tunes at the top of our lungs and being rather silly. It didn’t help that we had just come from the Dragon Mating talk at the Pern room. Perhaps that’s why one of the others and I began plotting being proddy…