Little boxes made of ticky tack

 

I remember you. I remember thinking everything that shifted did so like an earthquake. Sudden and violently. But I couldn't see the whole picture. I didn't register the time before. I hadn't noticed how compartmentalized our lives had already become. How precarious our connections. Of course I miss the way I thought things used to be. I miss not thinking about how a laugh or a handshake between friends and loved ones could end one or all of us. But I also think how wonderful it is that we live in a time of  electric connections. And I am grateful. 

80 years and change

Happy Birthday, Dad!

Typically atypical

Legend-ary

"Did you know our school is named after a legend? Literally, a legend!"

Coming soon to a medical office near you

Trumpcare's convenient back alley entrance

The kids are growing like weeds

Of course, you knew that. Didn't need me to tell you.

Annabel has braces. And boldness. And brains.

And we are entering that crossroad.

Sometimes I close my eyes and hold my breath just to feel the pulse running through my ears.

I pretend it's the sea.

Always changing.

She's given up dance and taken up theater. She has a voice coach as well as a basketball coach.

She no longer plays at dress up. She's now a professional.

She'll be T-H-I-R-T-E-E-N in a few weeks (13?howisthatpossible?)

I've rummaged through picture files here on the fingerprint stained laptop I somehow managed to wrestle away from her brother, but I couldn't find much of anything recent to show you.

She is more her own now, in ways that are not mine to tell.

*********

Silas is more of himself, as well, now that he's the grand old age of nine.

His body hasn't yet caught up to his feet, but it doesn't matter his size.

These days he takes the stairs two at a time, wearing a santa hat and last year's pajamas.

Legs visible from the calves, he claims he's never outgrown things.

Beatific, barely bespectacled boy, who sings in the shower and doesn't care who's listening.

He'll hug you if you ask him. Gladly.

But, no pictures, please. 

And he'll tell you about his dreams: That one day he will be bigger than a French car.

Mothers and daughters

It never gets old.

Happy Mother's Day to all the women who nurture.

Foam war chronicles

The Yellow Team.




The Blue Team.



Yellow Team advances with capture of weapon dump.



Short on strategy. Tough break for Blue Team.



Regroup in higher ground.



Overtaken in their own base camp.



"War never works out. Even when you win you lose."



War correspondant ... signing off.

Word

And today, for the second night in a row at lights out, he told me he'd "like to keep reading if that's OK."

"That's fine. Let me know when you'd like broccoli as a snack."