FurrySomething

There are these movies my husband watches. These guys get off a plane and get in a car and are whisked off some place in like Siberia or Oregon or something. Then they get off and its Christmas everywhere and they are shining and have finished their adventure and are just-glad-to-get-home-to-their-child who is blissfully unaware and sleeping.

Well, thats what the past few days felt like for me. Minus the adventure and the intrigue and the actual doing something useful (as opposed to just talking) and, of course looking crisp and cool getting off the said plane at the end of it all (i looked like a rat).

I was in FurryDaBad. Or something like that. There were some mountains. I don't know, you guys, Somewhere. North-ish from here. I spent the entire time locked up in the hotel (which had Christmas decorations and Christmas music in the elevator and I was really tempted to eat the Ginger Bread House). It was super nice, the place. Like someone polishing the floor and furniture every second of the day. Tech support that knew what LCD stood for and that could tell you the toggle key on your ratty vaio apart from, say, the finger sensor thingie that I have not even set up, really. I wore what passes off as formal clothes in Kenny Land. Namely, button down shirt and pants and a belt. I bought a new belt so I was happy with that shiny buckle for once. Some of the shirts are new as well (as in, I got them sometime in 2010) and I have not worn them all that much. I was dismayed to find that one of them was that cutesy three quarter sleeve thing. Oh well. It was blue, so that was okay. And yes before you say it, all very masculine, down to my dark coloured dress socks (from last century), and black shoes. And a black jacket that I could not really wear because of sweating.

I spent half a night cranking out a presentation. Some minutes presenting it the next morning. I drank coffee and walked down the hall to pee. I went back in the room and listened to the others. I dug out my (newly printed!) wad of cards (the kind with my name and affiliation on it) and handed it to all and sundry, urging them to read it and dispel for themselves the notion that I am a student (or worse yet, a post-doc, whatever, its okay if you dont know what that is, its something stupid, really). No, my white hair is not helping much. "You need to wear starched cotton saris" sure, yeah, I will do that. Soon. Sometime.

Then I came back. She was asleep. I squished her a bit in a bear hug (though I was stinking). He was awake. I asked him whats up. YAWN. Next morning I found myself on the treadmill to nowheresville again. I am not sure I went. I am definitely not sure about where I was. I have some memories of the hotel room and a bunch of folks I met for the first time and all sorts of conversations, and yes, that ginger bread house thing. But, still, its all weird.

This morning, again, in a sort of disconnected manner, I found myself running on Marina beach in the rain, worrying about the warning-less tsunami, looking apprehensively at the water (very far away today). I found myself running with two people I met at the conference. Super nice guys. One of them told me something. He is older. Maybe fifty? Not sure. Looks slim and fit without looking ill as only white people can. He said he runs with his son. In two races a year, and not more. He said he will do that for as long as he can keep up with him. The son is not all that into running, he is a soccer kid. But runs in these two races with his dad without cribs. He said he made the mistake of being too eager too early to run with his other children and well, it never happened. So, yes. Hear me now.

I am training now so when she is ready to, I can run with her in a race or two, and keep up, somewhat. Out with all the other goals.