July 21st, 2008

ozarque figure

Personal note; Conestoga...

This is the week of Getting Ready For Conestoga -- which undoubtedly means that two things will happen: The copyedited manuscript for the second edition of The Gentle Art of Verbal Self-Defense will at last arrive from my editor at Barnes & Noble; and the Huge Emergency-Rush Project people will make up their minds what they want me to do and want me to do it immediately. This is predictable. I will steadfastly ignore both of these cataclysms and get ready for Conestoga instead.

Today that means choosing what I'll be putting in the Art Show, and getting it ready -- matted, into a frame, tagged, titled, or whatever -- and organized. I have some crocheted Ozarques to take, and some Star Bowls; I have one small finished collage book, titled Scifaiku Sundae; I have drawings, and George has prints. As I had suspected, I wasn't able to get Thousands Of Hours Going By -- the new big collage book -- done in time, but I'm going to take it along and show it as a not-for-sale work-in-progress; almost all the collages are done, but only a few pages of the text. And it means choosing things for the con's Charity Auction and getting those ready.

Tuesday it means doing the paperwork for the Art Show, something I'm very bad at. Because I have such a hard time pricing things, it takes me forever to get the bid sheets done. And it makes me cross.

Wednesday it means getting the house and the greenhouse and the houseplants and the "grounds" ready to be shut down as we leave.

Thursday it means packing all our stuff, and packing all our little dog's stuff for the kennel, and fixing her meals to be taken to the kennel, and doing everything that we've forgotten (that we've forgotten in spite of the detailed Trip Checklist I print out for each of us before we go anywhere).

Friday it means leaving early and taking Sheba to the kennel, where she will cry and George and I will both cry too. She hates the kennel. It's a very nice kennel, but this is a disgustingly spoiled little dog who runs things on an undeviating schedule .... walks at a certain time, grooming at a certain time, meals at a certain time, pretzels at a certain time ... and she cannot believe these kennel people, who appear to be totally indifferent to the principles around which her world ordinarily revolves. She doesn't even get groomed at the kennel, and nobody plays Fetch with her, and things are dystopian, and she punishes us all by refusing to eat while she's there. On the other hand, I am of the opinion that for two adult human beings to be held captive in their home and unable to travel just because of one five-and-a-half-pound dog is absurd. So we will take her to the kennel, and then head on to Tulsa.

My programming looks like this, so far, all of course subject to change:

Panels -- "Future Trends in Science"; "Creating Believable Alien [?]" (I'm not sure what follows "Alien" ... maybe an "s," maybe "Worlds," maybe something else entirely); "Building Community Through the Internet."

Other stuff -- "Breakfast with Suzette Haden Elgin"; a Gentle Art of Verbal Self-Defense Workshop; and, if the programming people can fit it in somewhere, reading from Twenty-One Novel Poems and maybe discussing it a bit. And signing books. And ceremonies that open and close. And going to the bar. And, for George, not having to cook (or walk the dog) for days, hurrah!

George won't be doing a dealer's table this year, which means he'll be able to enjoy the con more; I approve of that. And I am looking forward to everything ... except dropping off Sheba at the kennel.