Tuesday, July 21, 1998


It was a little strange actually seeing the rock. Carefully chosen to be impressive but not too large and then shipped out of state to avoid sales tax, the diamond engagement ring clung to my youngest brother's fiancée finger and sparkled through out our family dinner like blissful punctuation marks in a cheery and slightly bewildered conversation. He was actually going to get married.

It wasn't really a surprise - they have been dating for four years and have just moved into together (probably to find out whether they were compatible in the deepest sense - hygiene). She is the metronome in my brother's crashing about world; a steady beat of reason and patience; the one who returns voicemail messages and sends thank you notes (I have long since eliminated the middle man and have phoned her directly when I want to schedule my brother's time).

And there we were the six of us in a French restaurant that was still recovering from the World Cup and Bastille Day complete with a waitress who muttered to herself about getting hazard pay for the last week "worse than New Year's. Much worse than New Year's." Six (mom, dad, George, me, and the couple) trying to get used to the concept of a family and going about it in our usual way - making fun of other family members and long monologues about one's own career.

George's video empire is doing well. I am breaking in a new boss - the getting up to speed is never easy since I think we have developed our own little language with words like GSM, ISD, ITD, Gary, and BVI which can be strung together in any arbitrary combination.

Outside of work for the most part, I keep rummaging through hobbies - piano, pottery, swing dancing, jogging, and tomato plant growing (well technically killing). I know that my random piano music (politely called experimental) and large banana slug model (complete with two smaller slugs) are not going to make it into a museum, but they bring me unconditional joy. It is the pride that I actually built something; it is the amazement that I can created something new; that I have created a new noun.

Perhaps that is what the rock is about. That Edward and Ginny will build something special together. That they have formed the new noun: EdGinny - two names never really to be separated. And as the six of us sat there eating the ahi with leeks or chicken in a mushroom sauce, and sipping Anchor Steam or Irish Whiskey, we knew that this new creation was good.