Along with their Mom, I met me weary little Weir travelers at SFO this afternoon, and we headed straight downtown to Men's Wearhouse, where the boys got fitted for tuxedos for their roles in the upcoming wedding, now a week away.
The clerks, two girls, got a kick out of the boys. Aidan is an inch taller than the shorter one, who said she is 5'3". Dylan's probably around 4'10" but his long, bushy, curly red hair makes him look taller than he actually is.
Our little flower girl got silver heels to go with her impossibly white dress; I'm sorry but I did not get a good photo of her today.
The nicest thing about our big, sprawling extended family is that pretty much everyone close to any of us individually ends up inside the circle. A circle of Weirs, which, if life were a river, might present a daunting prospect. But we also are an independent lot, given to bouts of instability or extreme activism...insanity is a word that comes to mind.
***
Tonight, I read through a list of those who have recently left their jobs at the San Francisco Chronicle, most, it is presumed, either laid off, or having euphemistically "taken the buyout." It's a list of who's who at Fifth & Mission, or at least who's been who there for decades. It's difficult to appreciate the extent of the newspaper industry collapse until you can put it in personal terms.
The names and faces of the victims are listed here, at Blog of remembrance . But, whatever you may have thought of the Chronicle, which in my case was not much, it is now a hall of echoes and a room of shadows.
The old days are gone and they won't be back again. Many of these reporters and editors have reached an age they will effectively retire now. A few may brave the wilds of the Internet, where I've ben wandering this past decade or so.
Of course, as each old world dies, a new one is born. Stay tuned, in coming weeks, as I sketch my concept of what the world needs now, from those of us who consider ourselves journalists.
-30-
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