the weeks that creep toward spring make lawns ugly and barren. the gutter park makes me think of something inner city-esque where bums sleep and crack is exchanged and graffiti is applied. the parched grass hardly even tries.

the water that runs at the bottom of the little valley that is the "park" is concrete bound.

i consider strewing poppy seeds over the impervious slopes. i have hope for blossoms. i kind of want to go in the middle of the night. i want it to be a mystery. only you know.

i constructed a heap of curious george style paper boats that ive never quite mastered until today. i pulled the old rusted radio flyer out from under the redwood trees and jus and i pulled the cobwebs off and crushed the spiders. jus and baby eliana settled in and i pulled them toward the sunset. we watched the quality of light shift behind the clouds.... (i love that. i love having jus around to enjoy it with me)

when we got to the gutter park we tumbled down the hill and set his handful of paper boats afloat. 

we raced them to the tunnel the gutter runs through before it feeds out on the other side of the bridge.

they may not have sunk if jus didnt grab them out of the water like a five year old.

darling boy. at the top of the park we tumbled bricks and empty beer bottles into the water and established a waterfall. baby elliana watched us and laughed and laughed. justus soaked his tennis shoes. i accepted that. small boys are careless.

the sun left the sky and when it was clearly dusk we set out for home. the yards of the neighborhood were littered with abandoned tricycles and kickballs. there were delicious dinnertime smells wafting through the air and i could see families gathering through the lighted windows. jus begged me to run with the wagon.

i did.

(note: the post was written in the month of january. the pictures were taken in the month of march after the thaw. additionally, barbara and i are planting flowers there this week.)

   littlefoot climbed out of bed with me and sat down, bleary-eyed, in front of the tree. he dumped out his stocking and unwrapped his pile of presents. and we were happy.

the rain came in grey sheets. the wind drove it east past the house. parsnips, potatoes and ham waited in the hot oven and when i went to wake jus from his nap i lay down with him and woke an hour later to a double rainbow and perfectly roasted christmas dinner.

my dad was enlisted to simply keep himself out of our hair and did so by spraying all the.... rain.... off the.... cars? yes. silly dad.

the rainbow dissipated and the sun sank and we lit candles and my sister, the band teacher, played her flute. in the midst of "once in royal davids city" i asked her if she would mind if i just took her flute away. she stopped playing and said "yes." heh heh heh.

once upon a time long ago she thunked me over the head with her flute..... she had been practicing incessantly and i had been mocking her.

now we are both teachers and i give her advice on nursing and she takes my son to the zoo. cute. i made the parsnips for her.

christmas. happy. lonely. funny. exhausted five year old boy. aching feet. lots of left over ham!!

(some gratuitous christmas pictures)

uncle matt and jus assembling legos santa babyjus and the virginchristmas story time

uncherished is a synonym for lonely... i searched the word on all levels. the word is an only somewhat appropriate descriptive. the word dichotomy... however, is. despite the severing quality of a dichotomous presence of mind...

well, i guess im alright.

sullenly, venomously angry. joyful. unbearably sad. enthusiastically hopeful.

but alright. 

...................................................................

justus insisting on going to bed with a santa hat on.

louise and i commiserate easily. migraine headaches, coffee and excedrin under morning blankets.

later i discovered to my amazement how easy it is to find components for the perfect fire. we cooked and cooked outside with the resulting hot coals and fed our sons.... who are fourteen years apart in age.

justus filled his hands and pockets with dried acacia pods for the tinder and i cracked the thinner fallen branches... i was in high heels and also pigtails. it was contradictory and i felt fierce. i forget until im doing it that building a resilient fire is one of my favorite things. on a crisp autumn afternoon in the city, its almost better. it felt like an adventure creeping around the scorched ruins of the house next door collecting kindling.

louise said "youre so happy with your fire and your poking stick". i was.

.................................................................................

the following is unextraordinarily written. its just a musing:

i listened to npr (national public radio) yesterday as there was an hour long discussion on the subject of bliss and the varying cultural definitions thereof. for instance, there is a female persuasion that american women my age press on each other constantly... this particular persuasion is essentially that youve got to be able to be happy all on your own and avoid searching for happiness within relationships... the man on the radio show quoted a butanese friend of his who claimed that he was confused by the idealistic american view of personal happiness. he said "there is no such thing. happiness is one hundred percent relational." i laughed aloud. yet another defiance of the concept of absolute truth. and in addition to that, a defiance of this notion i have been trying desperately to incorporate into my own worldview. (the notion of self obtained personal fulfillment) you know, it falls short.

as a very young girl i chose to live to: love people, actively and truly and to experience beauty with every sense and on every transcendent level. with motherhood i gained the responsibility of ferocious protection and the impartation of the aforesaid ideology.

and that is all there is.