The year in review, as seen through public posts in this journal. Leaving out last year's end-of-year memes. (Bolded phrases are subject lines; unbolded are first lines of the post, used where no subject line exists.)

January: "Hello, folks! So yeah, while I will not be leaving LJ behind completely, I am slowly starting to make my way over to DW."
February
March: "omnomentaschen"
April: "Tonight is the first night of Pesach. Zman cherutenu; the time of our liberation."
May: "traveling plans"
June: "home again, home again"
July: "home again / Home again, in more ways than one."
August: "There's been so much going on this past month that I keep wanting to post about..."
September: "Closing the year"
October: "My pants: so bankrupt."
November: "Signal boost: NYC-area apartment needed, short-term rental"
December: "mumblesomething years ago"

The year in review, as seen through public posts in this journal. (Bolded phrases are subject lines; unbolded are first lines of the post, used where no subject line exists.)

January: "hitting the road again"
February: "I am smug like a smug thing and posting about it very belatedly."
March: "I'd Do NEFilk For You"
April: "Tomorrow night is the first night of Pesach. Zman cherutenu; the time of our liberation."
May: "[unfiltered] here's how it is."
June: "Tonight is Shavuot."
July: "write like a girl"
August: "That Icon Meme Again"
September: "closing, closing, closing the year"
October
November
December: "i'm still here. i'm not gone."

Because a lot of people saw my last friendslocked post and didn't know what was going on. I realized I've been remiss in telling people about the state of my mother's health; it's been really hard to talk about.

Last spring my mother was diagnosed with uterine cancer. She's been in and out of the hospital (Sloan-Kettering) since then, with varying frequency; they had it under control for a good while, and then they didn't.

I cannot overstate how excellent Sloan-Kettering was through all of this. They took such good care of her, I can't even begin to tell you.

Yesterday they released her to home hospice care. And while it's good that she can be home now, the reason they released her is that at this point there isn't anything else they can do.

They've said weeks.



So this is why sdelmonte and I aren't at Balticon this weekend as we'd hoped to be. I'm sorry to miss all of you who will be there.

My brother and his family have come in from Israel, and my sister and her family from Rochester, and my mother's siblings, and family friends. And our whole community is organizing to help. And my mother is as comfortable as we can make her, and she's in good spirits, and ... that's pretty much all there is to say.

Again: those of you who are inclined towards prayer, please pray for her.

Because there are a lot of kids out there who need to hear this:
It Gets Better.
"...I wish I could have talked to this kid for five minutes. I wish I could have told Billy that it gets better. I wish I could have told him that, however bad things were, however isolated and alone he was, it gets better...."

And because there are some for whom it won't:
Spirit Day.
"...On October 20th, 2010, we will wear purple in honor of the 6 gay boys who committed suicide in recent weeks/months due to homophobic abuse in their homes and at their schools...."

Because bullying doesn't get taken seriously enough, and doesn't get stopped often enough. Because there are a lot of ways to be a designated victim, and this is one of the ways in which I wasn't. Because it's bad out there. Because I cried when I heard. Because, as a wise man once said, you may know somebody in a similar situation, or you may be in a similar situation, and if you're in a situation like that there's only one thing you can do.

we write it down 'cause it's something we have to do
and you can find your voice for the ones who come after you
and you can be the one to tell the kids: hang in there
there's a way to survive, you can believe me, i've been there
i'm not that strong, i can't fight this crime
i can't right this wrong, but i can write this rhyme
if i can write this song, well then it might just shine
and i swear to god i'm a get it right this time

Cesil Kohlman Levin, educator, dies at age 94.



I love you, Grandma.

Miss you so much.

There isn't any easier way to say this.

We lost the baby. Yesterday morning.



To forestall the likeliest questions:
* We're both about as close to okay as it's possible to be under the circumstances.
* This is not private. Please don't hesitate to tell anyone who you feel should know.
* Currently we are still planning to attend OVFF at the end of the month.

I'm not disabling comments but I may or may not be answering them.

From smallship1:

If there is someone that you miss dearly, for any reason, post this exact sentence in your journal.



Yeah.

No. Oh, no.

John M. Ford has died.


I just. I never met him, but ... this is the man who wrote 110 Stories. This is the man whose poetry taught me how to write a sestina.


Dammit.

My mother's mother passed away this morning. The funeral is this afternoon at about two.


I may be writing more about this later.

I want to write about my grandfather tonight.

Tonight is his yahrtzeit, the first anniversary of his death according to the Jewish calendar. I couldn't write much at all about it at the time. I'm still not sure I can.

I want to write about my grandfather tonight.

New Orleans, the city he lived in for most of his life and for the entirety of mine, the city that is inextricably linked with him and Grandma Cecil in my mind, is flooded. Grandma and my other local relatives have gotten safely out of the city. Thousands haven't.

I want to write about my grandfather tonight. His name was Schneur Zolmon Levin. Most people called him Zolly. My father called him Papa. I called him Grandpa Zolly, and didn't learn until only a few years ago how much he would have preferred to be called Zeide.

I've been thinking about National Novel Writing Month coming up in a few, and saying things like maybe this time I'll actually finish one. He always used to ask what I'd written lately.

I want to write about my grandfather tonight, and I keep thinking in other people's words. All true wealth is biological is the phrase I keep coming back to.

He was a small Jewish man with a short scrubby white beard and sharp blue eyes and a sense of humor rivaled only by his sense of principle. He taught me handslap games and Hi-Q and nonsense rhymes, and he tried to teach me discipline and responsibility and respect, and I know I disappointed him more often than not, and my uncle Elliot told me at the funeral that I was always Grandpa's favorite.

I miss him so much.

I want to write about my grandfather tonight, and I will not put it off again.