Letter, late December

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Overheard

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Comfort

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Letter home, from the Eastern outpost:

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Status:

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Fairy Tale

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On swimming, and sadness...

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Dream of Horse

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Revision

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Compass

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August, ending...

May our hands smell like basil for days every end of August...

If I'd woken earlier...

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Fishing

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Work

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In the dream...

In the dream, the girl (flesh and blood, four years old) drove the car (cardboard and matchsticks, brand new) across the field (corn stubble, clods, black crickets pinging off of weeds).

In the dream, she drove fine, though I kept telling her she couldn’t. In the dream, the sun (hydrogen, helium, carbon, nitrogen, neon. Magnetic storms) looked real, like the real sun might look, soaking in behind the scrub of trees padding the creek that cuts through the North 40 (acres: mostly corn, some soybeans, some wheat).

In the dream I was running (and the dog in my shadow ran) after the cardboard car, yelling slow down, slow down, as the girl grinned wildly, and didn’t.

In real life, the girl (flesh and blood, four years old) crawled into our bed sometime in the night (warp and weft of which is car alarm and rain. Or pulsing sky and melting asphalt. Or laughter as it moves past our front door.) Her foot is on my chest. One arm’s slung across her dad.  I study her: eyes dart wildly under sealed lids.

She Swims!

Begotten, 1977

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Apology

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Bathtub Jedi

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Fragment

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Two Lights

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Van Wyck Pkwy

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Amtrak, NYC to Philly

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In which, at 20, I make muffins in Maine:

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Small Pie.

April 30

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Belated Valentine!

Time travel with heart-hat as through line....happy belated love day to all!

An

Bookworm

No seat on the subway: sit on Mom's feet and study Cecil the Pet Glacier.

I love this pre-reading stage that involves taking a book every, every, everywhere. I love the whispered, remembered, made-up stories and the annoyed glance when she catches us spying. Kind of amazing to watch someone in the process of shaping and populating an inner life that has nothing to do with us. When she looks up from the page, her eyes are round and far away.
 

Fairy tales in the bathroom.

Halfway home from the library, plopped on someone's stoop with To Market, to Market.

A new year...

Making pizza with Papa in Rockford, IL. Who needs pants when you have an apron?!

Back in Brooklyn, the girl wakes up with the stomach flu, which sometimes seems to give us all a glimpse of some other realm...  "Everything comes alive when we're not looking, mama," she says.

Today we'll probably hang out in our jammies in the new Christmas flannel sheets as she recovers. P and I will eat leftover Hoppin' John and greens, for luck.

We're already feeling lucky, though - thankful for the love and good health of our family and friends. Excited about the adventures 2013 will bring. And broadcasting love to all of you far-flung dears.