Of course,my very next blog post after part one of my "Sasquan" report was going to be, yeah, you guessed it, part two of my "Sasquan" report. Gosh, I love when things line up all proper like.

But here's the catch. Nope. Something intervened. It's related but needed to be thought about and explored, talked about maybe. It makes a certain amount of sense but well, dammit, it feels a touch weird to talk about.

What I'm looking at as I decompress from this short trip to old home week(end) is that I have to pick up. Not where I was, because frankly, I wasn't exactly anywhere. When you attend a convention, even more when you work on a convention you can get lost in the set-aside of time until you come home, toss things gently but lovingly on the couch, (not the bed, silly, you have to sleep there) and after you unkink, soak, launder, pour out the weird thing in the fridge, answer the 204,789 emails voicemails/phone messages. And then it's over, and you stop and find yourself wondering "what the heck was I doing before this?" Often, especially if you've been working on the convneiton, planning, you've focused on this day, this week, this place, to the exclusivity of most other things. Where was I? What was I reading, did I have plans for um, I dunno, dinner, a dentist's appointment, stuff for school? A trip. A new jacket.

It usually does not take long to adjust; even if tied in with jet lag, if you've done this often enough, you recognize "oh, yeah, right, right" and in a day or two you've remembered your job title, the name of the cat, and what kind of logic you were using when you decided oh heck,no, you didn't need any food in the house on coming back after days. (Okay, yeah, there are 14 cans of cat food but that is different. Sort of.)

It's anticipation and planning. Then you're done. This year of course, for me was fraught with anxiety (don't you love the word "fraught"?) because the overgrown travel hassles of traveling from Seattle to Spokane and back were ridiculous. As many of you know, I'd pretty much given up when SuperBeth came to my rescue (more later.)

I got home Sunday night/midnight Monday morning. It's now Saturday afternoon. I'm still measurably wiped out. I've spent most of the last four days sleeping and reading. On Thursday, I headed out for my second meeting with a therapist and a visit to the local farmers' market. The market is held next door to our branch library, so with time on my hands, I went in. Even though I get books delivered, I still found new titles. I read the two mystery novels in very little time. About the only other thing I managed to do was to arrange to feed a friend who moved from her upstairs apartment to the one next door to me. I got food for two nights and then got us more stuff at the market. (Oh my. Those pies? Swoon. (314pieseattle.com) It would have been smart to do more as we're having high wind warnings and I should have more food stocked up (in case the power goes out - I can't risk leaving here because the elevator might not work when I return.)

Anywayanyway sidetrack, There was a shitload of stuff to think over before, during, after Worldcon. Some I expected. Trying to think "what's next?" is supremely difficult right now.

Here's what feels weird. I feel like, well, like the historical novels, and histories and genre fiction I've read about years past, years of Victorian and Edwardian and customs of mourning. I realized some time between last night and this morning, or whatever the hell, that I felt as if the public aspect of my grieving is done. That there were certain observances, situations, conditions, requirements that we needed to attend to in mourning the loss of such a public, if you will, figure as Stu Shiffman. Flags will not be lowered, but our world, this culture, and community in which we live, lived, flourished, required our actions and our presence. Since Stu died in late November of last year, there have been several gatherings in his name, his memory and his honor. Beautiful things have been written and shared, memories and stories, even stuff that belonged to him has been shared. We met in Seattle. We met in Boston. We gathered on line and in bars and at dinner, in community centers and living rooms to say goodbye and let go. Nine months, almost to the day, we gathered in Spokane to share love and memories, stories and laughter, artwork and friendship, all in the name of one fantastic, outstanding, warm, fun, loving, silly, talented, witty, engaging, curious and utterly wonderful man.

Nine months. It's not possible. I feel so numb trying to wrap my brain around the idea that Stu has been gone from us for ninemonths. Days drag endlessly for me and at the same time, I found myself thinking this morning about rent, and changing the calendar and wonder where the hell August had gone.

It doesn't quite work to say that most of us have "moved on". I know that. I know you better than that. I know that your love for Stu, your admiration and caring, your appreciation and enjoyment of him goes on, and is not ever lost. But it's come to my attention in this year that lives are so damn complicated for everyone right now (and for the foreseeable future?) Everyone, and I mean everyone who's probably reading this can attest to family matters - children parents siblings - health matters (of you or your childrenparentssiblings) - work matters - money matters (lather rinse.) Life does have to go the hell on.
Nothing can stop when you have people in your life and responsibilities. You can't stop when you've got to visit your dad, buy groceries for your mom, go to the doctor with your kids, deal with insurance, paperwork, legal stuff for someone. And life has to happen too.

For me, though, what it feels like is that I get to turn out the virtual porch light. There is a great deal to do. I am still trying to locate items that Stu's family should have. We are still working on The Great Scanning Caper, wherein every single known piece of Shiffman artwork that we can locate is being scanned into a computer database. Those who were at Sasquan saw a little sample of that project with the display prepared by Randy Byers, with help from great friends Andy Hooper, Suzle Tompkins and Jerry Kaufman. The 50 or so works that were displayed represent maybe one-tenth of what has been scanned to date. And we are so not done. There are name badges and tee shirts to be found and photographed and scanned. There are notebooks and magazines and publications to be dug out of boxes. I do not yet now how many individual works of art we will have in the final database. A thousand? I would not be surprised. Peope keep realizing "Oh! That fill-in-the-blank was done by Stu Shiffman years ago". There are enamel pins and tarot cards, invitations and holiday cards, doodles in corners. It's all Stu. And still I can say that it is, without question, the only joy there is for me.

So we are still sifting and sorting - for fanzine articles and displays that show the depth, breadth and height of Stu's imagination and talent. Websites are being planned. Collecting his work includes his writing and whooboy, tracking that down is a bit of a challenge. Most people think of Stu and think "Artist" first.

But the volume is down a little. We've slowed a little because there are not too many actual deadlines or requirements (just one and I'm trying so hard to get something found in the next few weeks.) There is still much to do. But...

I feel like I've gone from black to gray. I still light candles for my beloved almost every night. I still talk to him and about him. I still think of him and miss him with acute, sharp pain. It feels, though, in a way, that we crossed a barrier, a Big Deal Date and that things will be quieter now. Just as determined to happen, but it's going to be slower. Winter is coming, rain is coming, dark is coming. I can't raise my left arm very well and I don't deal with humidity with any degree of equanimity. I sleep badly, if at all. I miss Stu every day, without ever stopping. Talking about him with a therapist makes me miss him more as I am made aware of how I feel and what worries me. As I am not someone of faith, there are times when missing Stu is even more difficult, but I cannot manufacture belief to make myself feel better.

Doors close. Gates shut. The sound is turned down. Some things are packed away while other things are brought out to open and examine. We're into the gray and purple and black phase. Funny - these are colors I would choose. I am not observing any clear tradition it just feels right not to be wearing bright colors (which Stu loved me to wear too).

I know that none of you have stopped missing him. That is not at all what I am saying. I am not denying anyone's pain or loss. But I think we have passed some line, made some mark on our loss and the days ahead. I hope it helps. For me? No, not really.