The current issue of the Bellingham Review includes “Moon Snails”, a creative nonfiction piece I wrote describing the spirals of moon snails,  my brother,  my family, my body and the sea.  This week I am heading to the  NonfictionNow conference at the University of Iowa where I will appear on a panel put together by Bellingham Review Editor Brenda Miller.  It is an honor, and I am grateful for the opportunity.  Many thanks to Brenda,  the Bellingham Review, and my family.

Blood star, Henricia leviuscula

found on Bainbridge Island,  Washington state , Salish Sea

Thanks to Ted Leung, Chase Jarvis and Strobist.com for inspiration…
oh yeah, and the Strobist commercial 2.0 too…

I first met Anita through a trackback. It was a relationship based on blogging, with an electronic beginning. Back in August 2003, I’d only been blogging for a month or so, and although I knew I had a few enthusiastic friends who were readers, and Ted had linked to me, it was mostly quiet on the blog, with familiar faces. Then the trackback appeared in my mailbox. I had no idea what a trackback was, or who Anita Rowland was either. I remember that moment of mystery and wonder…and gratitude. Soon Anita and I were having some conversations (when I search for “anita rowland” on my blog, more than 50 posts come up!) and by 2004, I was attending some of the Seattle weblogger meetups, led by Anita.

Anita connected me to Dave Winer through her post on geek boyfriend which I described and to Robert Scoble through the meetups. She connected me to many others on the Seattle scene, and to bloggers near and far. I might not have spoken at conferences or received attention for my blogging if Anita hadn’t helped me. And I would certainly have far fewer friends. I owe her. Back in the summer of 2004 she came out to the island, along with Robert and Maryam and Beth Grigg, among others, for a fun blogger picnic. Friendships were formed, thanks to Anita.

When R –, Anita and Jack‘s grandson arrived, Anita and I started hanging out together here and there. Anita generously rode the ferry to Bainbridge. R— and our Elisabeth are close in age. It seemed to me Anita was an amazing mother to R—-, firm and sweet. Anita had fun ideas for entertainment. When we enjoyed the toys she brought, she would let us borrow the game. For example, Anita and R— introduced us to I Spy. By the time I got around to returning it, she would say they had bought another one and we could keep it. Now my children love I Spy. At the Apple store the other day they were playing I Spy while I waited for my appointment. And I was remembering Anita.

Anita was gracious and giving. She poured herself into people, into the blogging community, into her grandson R—. I admired her in many ways. It takes lots of courage to live a life like Anita’s, going forward with spunk and knitted hats, raising a grandson, organizing events, constantly reaching out and connecting people to each other, learning, reading, traveling, being herself always.

For the last year or two, the girls and I tried to help with R—while Anita was getting treatments. All the planets had to align in order for us to be able to go over to Redmond for a day, and I always wished we could have helped more often. But the girls and I had fun hanging out with R—- and it was good to see Anita. We last saw her in the spring. Before that I remember going into a convenience store in Vancouver and walking back to the hotel with Anita after Northern Voice 2006. Probably one of my most fun memories will be the time we stayed late after a meetup at Crossroads had ended and emptied our pockets of change, letting the children ride together on the mechanical toys in the mall, Anita, Jack, R—, my girls and me.

In writing about Anita, I have to write about cancer. My relationship with Anita started with the trackback email, and ended with another email on December 10th 2007 saying she had passed away after a long battle with cancer. 2007 was a difficult year to watch people around me receive diagnoses. Reading Derek and Airdrie’s journey this past year has been intense. I think of them often. In June, one of my high school classmates died from a brain tumor (here’s a blog post a friend wrote about him). I did not know him well but I went to the memorial service along with many others from our class. In his eulogy, the beloved English teacher our class had asked to speak at baccalaureate, revealed that he too was fighting cancer, for the second time. I came home from the memorial service and that weekend went into the garden ripping out blackberry bushes with clippers and vengeance. Then I sat down at the computer and wrote the angriest piece of writing I have written. I was mad. Mad at cancer for taking away my classmate, affecting Derek and his family, attacking my teacher who had impacted my life. And yes, I realized I was angry about my brother too who died from his third brain tumor several years ago. I was angry Anita was ill and so many others I knew. (Note: in the week since I drafted this post I lost yet another friend to cancer.)
Anita is one of the first friends I have lost in this new way of existing online. I still see her face on my Twitter page. Anita is still one of my Facebook friends. I can go read her blog. On Flickr I can read some of the last communication we shared, comments on photos she had posted. I miss her. Her face reminds me. Her words are still here with me. I will always be in her debt for what she gave me, and I will never be able to repay her. It is unfair she has gone. It is unfair she had to suffer intensely. There is much injustice in this life. But Anita also reminds me of the grace and generosity she gave. In this injust world, I can strive to be kind as she was, to build relationships and create community, to pour out mercy and love, to be brave in my battles until the end.

I told myself that running a marathon would only take a few months, and wouldn’t need that much time. I’m discovering though that this race is becoming a central focus of this spring season. I’m rearranging my schedule to fit in the distance runs and planning my summer around the marathon. I’m shopping and researching which items I should obtain before I get stuck in the middle of twenty-six miles as a blistered mess. It’s a delicate dance: in order to run such a race I need passion and perseverance, yet I also need to hold it with an open hand and keep my priorities in order for the other 23 hours of the day.

I’d be a fool to think that at 6 out of 18 weeks, I am a third done with the training. The longest and hardest runs – and weeks – are yet to come. Only recently did I begin to mention to friends and acquaintances my maniac marathon plan. I was afraid to look foolish, especially since my attempt last fall ended before finishing five miles. Already I feel a bit of the blahs, the excitement of the early morning rising and running competing with a need for sleep, a sense of impatience and weariness setting in before I am out the door. It is this middle of the training, as in the middle of the marathon, that requires endurance. I’d be a fool though if I stopped now, when I can start to imagine how the finish line feels.

I think my husband was more upset than I was over my broken blog. My main concern was with retaining my eponymous url. If my blog was dead, it might be time to start a new one. Anything other than Movable Type certainly appeals to me, I confess. I didn’t want julieleung.com forever associated with a site I could not change or move.

Ted though came home last night and began working on my blog again. I went to bed earlier than he did, as I often do. When I woke up, I found an email from him dated in the early morning hours, announcing that he had rescued my blog. Hurray!

Jenny described the love languages in her family. I think that Ted wanted to fix my blog, not because it was a challenge to his skills or perhaps even insult to his pride, but because he loves me. He’s always supported and encouraged me in all my blogging endeavors and he understands how much of myself I’ve poured into that Movable Type installation on our server. Ted worked and hacked, eventually finding a solution that would allow me to use my blog again, out of his heart and passion for me. Perl is a love language.