Proof I am my mother’s daughter.
When I lived in British Columbia, Nathan was only a border away—a reminder of back to reality, we had these other Midwestern selves, survivors of high school and hijinks we had roots, dammit and inside jokes we made tee shirts out of.
He shines at cutting to the chase. Upfront about openness and great at advice, our hearts have often been in the best worst place, and he never lets me get away with not knowing what I’m really saying.
It was my first South by Southwest, smack in the heart of the beast of roving gangs of musicians and geeks emitting burned CDs like throwing stars, rising.
So many bright eyes! such energy, me my own best self.
I had to work during most of it (my actual job, that is—not at SX), but did manage to get my mug on the internet for a conversation about innovation in libraries and dance in a cardboard robot head at an MIT party.
We crashed the fun and games at the IEEE bazaar and made funny faces.
The glow could find and swap only one face at a time, so Arthur put on a disguise,
made a face with his fingers,
and hoodwinked the future.
I saw scads of 3D printers and wish I were more impressed and watched Link moon over an oculus rift.
I saw sweet bands from the street,
and in the middle of the street,
saw the end of the world till assured such fear was but pi in the sky.