(Josephine is dressed for the day, in faded jeans, a flowered blouse, a pink net tutu, a pink maribou feather boa and a charming salmon-pink coloured hat from the 1940's from an estate sale in Buffalo. She's riding her scooter in the back yard while pushing her doll in a stroller with one hand)
(Marla is dressed for the day, in ugly plaid mens shorts, a black tee shirt with a red nautical star on it, and an old flannel receiving blanket bleached of all its colour wrapped around her wet hair. It seems washing her hair in the kitchen sink with dish soap has become a go-to rather than a fall-back. She's hanging a load of jeans on the line, even though the day is cloudy and cool, because she believes the forecast doesn't call for rain and they sometimes get funky-smelling when they dry in the basement.)
J: "Wook! Wook what I yam doing!"
M: (sighs) "Yes, sweetie. It's called multi-tasking. Can you say multi-tasking?"
J: "Muwlteetastking."
M: "Exactly. It means doing more than one thing at a time."
J: "Wike doing awl diffrwent fings at the same time?"
M: "That's right."
J: "Sometimes owld people do that."
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Monday, August 27, 2007
Just This.
She just told me that when we get old, she will come and visit us and bring us crazy presents. We can babysit her babies and buy them cupcakes when they grow teeth.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Welcome Nadine's Baby!
Welcome, Baby Silverthorne!
The smile that flickers on baby's lips when he sleeps - does anybody know where it was borne? Yes, there is a rumor that a young pale beam of a crescent moon touched the edge of a vanishing autumn cloud, and there the smile was first born...
Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941 Indian Poet, Playwright and Essayist, Won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1913)
I spoke with Nadine yesterday, and among all the other things we touched on, she told me she'd dreamed of holding the baby. A baby with dark hair, the baby she dreamed about.
Today she is smiling, because her dream came true.
This morning at 6:36 am, her little girl (a girl!) baby Lucine Seta Silverthorne arrived.
Nadine had the birth she wanted, as she did manage to include the fact in her text message to me that she had relatively few stitches in her vagina.
Warmest wishes for all the best to Nadine, and the rest of her lovely family.
We, as much as they, I think, have been looking forward to this time.
Posted by Marla
Friday, August 24, 2007
Yestertime
I've had a head full of thoughts percolating since Wednesday evening, and this morning they spilled out of the pot and began hitting the burner with sizzling noises and spatters.
I've written of my garden before, and this morning, I spent some time there, just a bit, and that was exactly what was needed.
This year, my garden wasn't at its best. It was a funny kind of year for it - some plants bloomed early, some were stunted. Now, some have faded well before they should have. Yesterday I came home from work, and realized that the Day Lilies were just done - the flower stalks needed pulling, the reedy leaves were already tattered and brown and spilling everywhere, and that they'd multiplied so greatly that if I want to have any Irises next year, I need to divide them.
I pulled the stalks, gave the leaves a lick and a promise, and tried not to look at the rest of the garden. This morning though, I had a few minutes for closer examination. It's then, as now, that I realized that once again, my garden is a very profound place.
My neighbours' purple Coneflowers have superseded the white, and some Black Eyed Susans have crept in. They all bloomed early, and almost all at once; and the petals are looking bedraggled too soon before they're due to go to seed.
A low, creeping evergreen bush has browned and shrivelled and the Lavender next to it didn't reach any amazing heights or spread; worse, I have to lean close to catch its scent. That it was planted as a reminder of a far-away friend whom I've lost track of came to mind, and so I need to figure out what they both need from me. What's more, I miss them as they were.
I knew the garden needed water. Even these drought-tolerant plants were thirsty. I've blamed the inaccurate forecasts, but really, I let them go too long. Knowing it's not best practice to water at night, or mid-day or all the other times I had the chance, I made more than a few choices to let it go in favour of another time.
Standing there with dirty hands and feet this morning, while watering, I looked closely at the garden.
So many things have gone to seed, have gotten leggy and spindly and over-reaching and out of bounds.
Other plants that were formerly golden and lush are thin, insipid and laced with holes from bugs.
I set the hose down to soak a few of the plants that help structure the garden, and started pulling like crazy. I dead-headed and ripped up plants without caring for anything beyond a cathartic release for both the garden and me.
My intention is that next week, I would like to get in there, ankles and wrists deep, and make some changes toward what I'd like to see happen in the garden next year.
The epiphany? What was reconciled within me?
I want paths.
I knew it for sure when I read it in the Globe this morning. The thought had come to mind earlier this week when we were at the beach, and my littlest family members followed the stone lined walkways through a meditation circle.
The time has come when I know I need to walk through my garden, not around it. Josephine needs to be able to wander into what's there, rather than have to pick her way through and risk my ire and the crushing of small growing things. What was pleasing before in its luxuriance, its density and wild tangled complexity now needs to be opened.
This week, I was led to a Leonard Cohen quote, from Anthem:
It's time to let some light in.
*******************
On Tuesday night I attended a meeting at a nearby coffee shop. The purpose of the gathering was to introduce the non-profit Neighbourhood Watch organization to those of us who were interested in bringing it to our own streets. While my vision of myself as a retro-style block captain was displaced with a more realistic one (you know, I thought I'd get to prowl the streets with my sniffing hound, wear a badge, carry a flashlight and interrogate interlopers and radio in miscreants), my evening was turned around by one question, which was asked by a young businessman attempting to work at the next table.
The coffee shop is located right next to a park, and said park is often full of kids shrieking at the top of their lungs. I have to admit, even I cringed a few times at the length and volume of some of the screams. I was attempting to illustrate something for one of my husband's "team-building" exercises at his office, and my hand jerked a few times in response to some of the more blood-curdling yells.
After I'd introduced myself to the community liaison for our local police division, who happens to be a Kindergarten teacher, the man whom I'll call young (sigh, I'd say early thirties at the earliest, and obviously younger than me) approached the two of us. Veritably trembling, he haltingly and while physically trying to shake the sounds out of his ears asked us "Please...can you...can you tell my why children scream like that?"
(I'm aware that I could practically conduct this response from you all, and imagine myself doing so in white tie and tails, but in shadow against a red screen as I just watched Fantasia last night.)
"Because they're children."
Unsatisfied, he continued that he still didn't understand why, and the becauses tumbled out of us in response.
Because they can.
Because they love the sound of their own voices.
Because it's fun for them.
Because they're testing boundaries.
Because it's healthy for them.
...and then the reasons became more pointed...
Because they don't have hang-ups - they're not all uptight and constrained and it's beautiful, can't you see it?!
Because they need to exert this energy sometimes, or it will be turned against their parents when they're at home or at a more inopportune time like during grocery shopping.
Because this is the place and time for it to happen.
Because they don't understand discretion, and haven't learned social mores, and hey, they would probably like to see more people screaming with fun and joy and laughter more often.
Because it's normal - don't you remember being a kid?
It went back and forth for a few minutes, and then he wonderingly, and bravely ventured "Perhaps I'm wrong to believe this, but wouldn't a very careful diet of only the best and most nutritious foods help to control this behaviour?" That was the point I cackled in his face, and told him that naivety is so cute.
Once upon a time, I had similar thoughts, but not to this extent. Parenting, for me, was never intended to be about controlling Josephine, but guiding her. While I wish we had fewer discipline issues, and control issues, the temperament she was issued with is a challenging one and I am often defeated. We've learned to pick our battles, as all parents eventually figure out for themselves. Food has a huge role in tempering her, but this young man thought that "Okay, so the kids get to scream at the park - then, when you go home, they're quiet and content and I can go to my office and work, right?"
We cut and thrust back and forth for a good fifteen minutes. Once, he struck with "Then why do people ever have kids?", and another time I countered a jibe with "When they're you're own kids, it's different. You see the world differently, and become a parent to more than just your own child", and I went on to explain why I was at the meeting - to help my neighbourhood become a better place for my child and others to live in.
At one point he parried with "It sounds like you can't really recommend having children!" and I counter-moved that indeed, I couldn't recommend it for everyone. Even now I'll admit that I used to think the sound of children crying would cause my ovaries to shrivel up and fall out my pant leg. Suggesting he spend more time to find out if he even likes children as they are: sentient humans who are wonderfully wise and innocent at the same time, and have a consciousness and rationality so far removed from our own adult experience, was perhaps my only move toward reparation with him. Earlier, I'd suggest that "as earlier generations did with conviction, we could just beat them senseless. Hey - some people still do so!" We were so opposed at one point, that he confessed that he had to ask, as he was being pushed to consider children because of his partner.
Then the conversation moved toward "What is our value in the world as adults when we give up part of our lives toward raising children?"
The youngster (I snicker) maintained that it might be of more value to continue his work within the health agency as he was, with a focus on what he was doing for the greater good, and spend his life devoted to achieving his maximum ability to contribute in this way.
I contended that there is only so much I can do as I am - but it's my child's potential beyond me that I consider to be of more value. That even as observing her in play has made strangers smile, the butterfly effect of those smiles may have even reached him at one time.
And I told him that it's possible to have both worlds - that you can have a great effect on and in the world, that great things can be done as, or even though you choose to have a child - but that it's not like simply choosing different paths, but more like choosing to jump off a cliff at some point in your journey.
The paths, you find again.
Over the past few days I've continued my conversation with him within myself, and see that I was pointed in a new direction, as perhaps he was.
*********************
When I am in tune with what's around me, there is a flow. To words, to habits, to time spent with loved ones. I'm supposing that as lately I've pushed away inharmonious thoughts, believing I was having a melodious interlude, I haven't done myself any favours. This morning, as paths taken and not, and conversations real and imagined converged in my mind, I thought about how my energy has been apportioned of late, and how it led to the neglect of my garden - but how that this dormant period for my garden is going to lead me toward something transformative, for my garden and myself.
This morning, Josephine, to her mind, invented Yestertime. It's a fantastic concept, and I think it's astounding that children can come up with such a simple yet complex thought randomly, independently and yet all have the same definition. For her, the flow is easier to tune into, the paths divulge themselves more easily and she is more inclined to jump off cliffs and meander through. She is my crack that lets the light in, and it is children that remind us of Yestertime.
I wish I could travel back along Wednesday's path, and tell that guy about Josephine and Yestertime.
I've written of my garden before, and this morning, I spent some time there, just a bit, and that was exactly what was needed.
This year, my garden wasn't at its best. It was a funny kind of year for it - some plants bloomed early, some were stunted. Now, some have faded well before they should have. Yesterday I came home from work, and realized that the Day Lilies were just done - the flower stalks needed pulling, the reedy leaves were already tattered and brown and spilling everywhere, and that they'd multiplied so greatly that if I want to have any Irises next year, I need to divide them.
I pulled the stalks, gave the leaves a lick and a promise, and tried not to look at the rest of the garden. This morning though, I had a few minutes for closer examination. It's then, as now, that I realized that once again, my garden is a very profound place.
My neighbours' purple Coneflowers have superseded the white, and some Black Eyed Susans have crept in. They all bloomed early, and almost all at once; and the petals are looking bedraggled too soon before they're due to go to seed.
A low, creeping evergreen bush has browned and shrivelled and the Lavender next to it didn't reach any amazing heights or spread; worse, I have to lean close to catch its scent. That it was planted as a reminder of a far-away friend whom I've lost track of came to mind, and so I need to figure out what they both need from me. What's more, I miss them as they were.
I knew the garden needed water. Even these drought-tolerant plants were thirsty. I've blamed the inaccurate forecasts, but really, I let them go too long. Knowing it's not best practice to water at night, or mid-day or all the other times I had the chance, I made more than a few choices to let it go in favour of another time.
Standing there with dirty hands and feet this morning, while watering, I looked closely at the garden.
So many things have gone to seed, have gotten leggy and spindly and over-reaching and out of bounds.
Other plants that were formerly golden and lush are thin, insipid and laced with holes from bugs.
I set the hose down to soak a few of the plants that help structure the garden, and started pulling like crazy. I dead-headed and ripped up plants without caring for anything beyond a cathartic release for both the garden and me.
My intention is that next week, I would like to get in there, ankles and wrists deep, and make some changes toward what I'd like to see happen in the garden next year.
The epiphany? What was reconciled within me?
I want paths.
I knew it for sure when I read it in the Globe this morning. The thought had come to mind earlier this week when we were at the beach, and my littlest family members followed the stone lined walkways through a meditation circle.
The time has come when I know I need to walk through my garden, not around it. Josephine needs to be able to wander into what's there, rather than have to pick her way through and risk my ire and the crushing of small growing things. What was pleasing before in its luxuriance, its density and wild tangled complexity now needs to be opened.
This week, I was led to a Leonard Cohen quote, from Anthem:
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.
It's time to let some light in.
*******************
On Tuesday night I attended a meeting at a nearby coffee shop. The purpose of the gathering was to introduce the non-profit Neighbourhood Watch organization to those of us who were interested in bringing it to our own streets. While my vision of myself as a retro-style block captain was displaced with a more realistic one (you know, I thought I'd get to prowl the streets with my sniffing hound, wear a badge, carry a flashlight and interrogate interlopers and radio in miscreants), my evening was turned around by one question, which was asked by a young businessman attempting to work at the next table.
The coffee shop is located right next to a park, and said park is often full of kids shrieking at the top of their lungs. I have to admit, even I cringed a few times at the length and volume of some of the screams. I was attempting to illustrate something for one of my husband's "team-building" exercises at his office, and my hand jerked a few times in response to some of the more blood-curdling yells.
After I'd introduced myself to the community liaison for our local police division, who happens to be a Kindergarten teacher, the man whom I'll call young (sigh, I'd say early thirties at the earliest, and obviously younger than me) approached the two of us. Veritably trembling, he haltingly and while physically trying to shake the sounds out of his ears asked us "Please...can you...can you tell my why children scream like that?"
(I'm aware that I could practically conduct this response from you all, and imagine myself doing so in white tie and tails, but in shadow against a red screen as I just watched Fantasia last night.)
"Because they're children."
Unsatisfied, he continued that he still didn't understand why, and the becauses tumbled out of us in response.
Because they can.
Because they love the sound of their own voices.
Because it's fun for them.
Because they're testing boundaries.
Because it's healthy for them.
...and then the reasons became more pointed...
Because they don't have hang-ups - they're not all uptight and constrained and it's beautiful, can't you see it?!
Because they need to exert this energy sometimes, or it will be turned against their parents when they're at home or at a more inopportune time like during grocery shopping.
Because this is the place and time for it to happen.
Because they don't understand discretion, and haven't learned social mores, and hey, they would probably like to see more people screaming with fun and joy and laughter more often.
Because it's normal - don't you remember being a kid?
It went back and forth for a few minutes, and then he wonderingly, and bravely ventured "Perhaps I'm wrong to believe this, but wouldn't a very careful diet of only the best and most nutritious foods help to control this behaviour?" That was the point I cackled in his face, and told him that naivety is so cute.
Once upon a time, I had similar thoughts, but not to this extent. Parenting, for me, was never intended to be about controlling Josephine, but guiding her. While I wish we had fewer discipline issues, and control issues, the temperament she was issued with is a challenging one and I am often defeated. We've learned to pick our battles, as all parents eventually figure out for themselves. Food has a huge role in tempering her, but this young man thought that "Okay, so the kids get to scream at the park - then, when you go home, they're quiet and content and I can go to my office and work, right?"
We cut and thrust back and forth for a good fifteen minutes. Once, he struck with "Then why do people ever have kids?", and another time I countered a jibe with "When they're you're own kids, it's different. You see the world differently, and become a parent to more than just your own child", and I went on to explain why I was at the meeting - to help my neighbourhood become a better place for my child and others to live in.
At one point he parried with "It sounds like you can't really recommend having children!" and I counter-moved that indeed, I couldn't recommend it for everyone. Even now I'll admit that I used to think the sound of children crying would cause my ovaries to shrivel up and fall out my pant leg. Suggesting he spend more time to find out if he even likes children as they are: sentient humans who are wonderfully wise and innocent at the same time, and have a consciousness and rationality so far removed from our own adult experience, was perhaps my only move toward reparation with him. Earlier, I'd suggest that "as earlier generations did with conviction, we could just beat them senseless. Hey - some people still do so!" We were so opposed at one point, that he confessed that he had to ask, as he was being pushed to consider children because of his partner.
Then the conversation moved toward "What is our value in the world as adults when we give up part of our lives toward raising children?"
The youngster (I snicker) maintained that it might be of more value to continue his work within the health agency as he was, with a focus on what he was doing for the greater good, and spend his life devoted to achieving his maximum ability to contribute in this way.
I contended that there is only so much I can do as I am - but it's my child's potential beyond me that I consider to be of more value. That even as observing her in play has made strangers smile, the butterfly effect of those smiles may have even reached him at one time.
And I told him that it's possible to have both worlds - that you can have a great effect on and in the world, that great things can be done as, or even though you choose to have a child - but that it's not like simply choosing different paths, but more like choosing to jump off a cliff at some point in your journey.
The paths, you find again.
Over the past few days I've continued my conversation with him within myself, and see that I was pointed in a new direction, as perhaps he was.
*********************
When I am in tune with what's around me, there is a flow. To words, to habits, to time spent with loved ones. I'm supposing that as lately I've pushed away inharmonious thoughts, believing I was having a melodious interlude, I haven't done myself any favours. This morning, as paths taken and not, and conversations real and imagined converged in my mind, I thought about how my energy has been apportioned of late, and how it led to the neglect of my garden - but how that this dormant period for my garden is going to lead me toward something transformative, for my garden and myself.
This morning, Josephine, to her mind, invented Yestertime. It's a fantastic concept, and I think it's astounding that children can come up with such a simple yet complex thought randomly, independently and yet all have the same definition. For her, the flow is easier to tune into, the paths divulge themselves more easily and she is more inclined to jump off cliffs and meander through. She is my crack that lets the light in, and it is children that remind us of Yestertime.
I wish I could travel back along Wednesday's path, and tell that guy about Josephine and Yestertime.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Nice. Nice. Just Great.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Take My Advice, Please.
Yesterday, the Libra, who weighs and balances and considers decisions until sometimes the opportunity has passed or until the rest of the household is groaning with the obviousness of what needs to be done, bought himself some new shoes to help his broken baby toe feel more comfortable.
While the Leo in this household usually approves of any decisions to buy more things, especially things of the shoe persuasion, she cannot help but feel that perhaps the Libra is using the injury as an excuse to buy the Creepers he's been secretly lusting after, though she didn't really expect him to come home with Birkenstocks.
But, since apparently she's the one that told him to maybe buy some new shoes, she has only myself...I mean herself... to blame.
Last night, his mood uplifted, his toe healing, he and Josie did some crazy dancing after dinner.
Including the "wipe the floor with her" move that made her shriek and giggle and scream "AGAIN! AGAIN! AGAIN!", though they had to stop because that move sends the Slobberhound into her face-licking mode and we'd like for our child to keep her facial features intact and rather less moist.
But still, the injury lingers, and still, I'm compelled to be a bit of a smartass about it.
S: "Remember Josie, take it easy. Daddy still has a broken toe. It's only been two weeks and one day."
M: "How many minutes?"
Thankfully, I'm well-matched.
S: "This many." (shows a certain finger behind his back as part of a dance move)
S: "No, wait. This many." (shows two fingers, and you know which ones, behind his back as part of a dance move)
This morning, the sympathetic Pisces member of the family made Steve a "cast" for his poor foot, and insisted he prop it up on two throw pillows. He accepted her ministrations with what I thought were rather over-the top professions of gratitude, and dutifully wore the cast while watching Breakfast Television. Then, she packed it in his briefcase so he could take to work.
Those two are very well-matched too.
While the Leo in this household usually approves of any decisions to buy more things, especially things of the shoe persuasion, she cannot help but feel that perhaps the Libra is using the injury as an excuse to buy the Creepers he's been secretly lusting after, though she didn't really expect him to come home with Birkenstocks.
But, since apparently she's the one that told him to maybe buy some new shoes, she has only myself...I mean herself... to blame.
Last night, his mood uplifted, his toe healing, he and Josie did some crazy dancing after dinner.
Including the "wipe the floor with her" move that made her shriek and giggle and scream "AGAIN! AGAIN! AGAIN!", though they had to stop because that move sends the Slobberhound into her face-licking mode and we'd like for our child to keep her facial features intact and rather less moist.
But still, the injury lingers, and still, I'm compelled to be a bit of a smartass about it.
S: "Remember Josie, take it easy. Daddy still has a broken toe. It's only been two weeks and one day."
M: "How many minutes?"
Thankfully, I'm well-matched.
S: "This many." (shows a certain finger behind his back as part of a dance move)
S: "No, wait. This many." (shows two fingers, and you know which ones, behind his back as part of a dance move)
This morning, the sympathetic Pisces member of the family made Steve a "cast" for his poor foot, and insisted he prop it up on two throw pillows. He accepted her ministrations with what I thought were rather over-the top professions of gratitude, and dutifully wore the cast while watching Breakfast Television. Then, she packed it in his briefcase so he could take to work.
Those two are very well-matched too.
Contrary To What One Might Think...
It is best to take Mollies and Josephines to beaches on drizzly, windy, cloudy days.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
HEY! Is for Horses...
There comes a time in every parent's life when you have to decide whether to yell "Hey! Come in here! It's lunch time. I mean it. Stop playing and come NOW. And Sit up straight and use your fork and eat yer lunch for crying out loud!"
Or decide that Hey! She's happily playing with her ponies...and playing that she's a pony...so you make "grass" and "hay" and carrots and "fallen apples" and stuff for lunch and then you try not to be insulted when she reminds you that ponies don't use utensils. Also, that ponies don't wear pants.
Or decide that Hey! She's happily playing with her ponies...and playing that she's a pony...so you make "grass" and "hay" and carrots and "fallen apples" and stuff for lunch and then you try not to be insulted when she reminds you that ponies don't use utensils. Also, that ponies don't wear pants.
Cottage Weekends Die Hard
The weekend before last, Josephine and I took off for a cottage weekend at Ann's. It was all cottage weekends should ever be, with friendship and laughter and fresh air and a long drive there that seemed shorter on the way home.
(photo by Andrea)
I loved watching her, whatever we were doing. She was happy to sit on rocks and watch for deer who'd never come. It's wonderful how water and rocks and someone else's toys make the mundane far more interesting, and that means she can be absorbed for ages - not the usual pull something out and move on in fifteen minutes schtick. It'd be wonderful if a cottage could be installed in our back yard, I think.
We sat on the dock, just enjoying being close to each other, and feeling the water and the space all around us.
Though, of course, the quiet never lasts for long with Josephine.
Which is good, in a way. She was so worn out with all of the experiences that she fell asleep on my shoulder during dinner on Sunday night, leaving time for me afterward to go down to the dock with a beer and books.
The evening as peaceful as this:
the gift of time to sprawl and read until the sky drifted from this...
to this...
And then darkness complete, but for the knowledge that there was a meteor shower going on behind the clouds.
My only company the dragonflies, and I think I saw two "doing it" in the air. I'm sure at some point I'll have to look up how dragonflies procreate, because it's been a week and I'm still wondering.
On Monday came time to say goodbye to everything, and Josephine did as toddlers do.
And home to the mundane. Here's the note I'd have come home to if we hadn't decided to linger just a bit longer and stop for ice cream and antique shopping on the way home:
(photo by Andrea)Little girls laughing and bossing each other, women sharing, and water lapping are what comes to mind when I think of the weekend, though Ann's very kind husband and intense and smart youngest son were there too.
But, as always, my favourite moments were often those quiet ones when I connected with Josephine. We made a fairy house.
But, as always, my favourite moments were often those quiet ones when I connected with Josephine. We made a fairy house.
We sat on the dock, just enjoying being close to each other, and feeling the water and the space all around us.
Though, of course, the quiet never lasts for long with Josephine.
Which is good, in a way. She was so worn out with all of the experiences that she fell asleep on my shoulder during dinner on Sunday night, leaving time for me afterward to go down to the dock with a beer and books.
The evening as peaceful as this:
the gift of time to sprawl and read until the sky drifted from this...
to this...
And then darkness complete, but for the knowledge that there was a meteor shower going on behind the clouds.
My only company the dragonflies, and I think I saw two "doing it" in the air. I'm sure at some point I'll have to look up how dragonflies procreate, because it's been a week and I'm still wondering.
On Monday came time to say goodbye to everything, and Josephine did as toddlers do.
And home to the mundane. Here's the note I'd have come home to if we hadn't decided to linger just a bit longer and stop for ice cream and antique shopping on the way home:
Sunday, August 19, 2007
The Agony of the Feet
Two weeks ago, while snuggling in bed with Josephine, I heard Steve yell "FUUUUUUUUUUUH!!!! IT's broken."
He'd walked into the pile of suitcases in his office. The pile that's been there for six months, that he'd stubbed his toe on before. They store all kinds of useful things, like out of season clothes and keepsakes. Formerly on top of the wardrobes in the room that became Josephine's bedroom, they've been living in an aesthetically pleasing column just inside the door.
It's my fault it happened, because it's my suitcase full of winter things on the bottom, and I put them there, and I read too many decorating magazines and while they say that it's attractive storage, they don't say that you should put yellow caution tape around them.
There went the sleep-in. The pinky toe was sticking out sideways. Knowing that all that happens is the toe is taped to the next one, we decided to Google medical advice just in case. I mean, nobody wants their toe to fall off due to neglect. Who knows - maybe breaking a toe can cause it to just fall off one day.
Googling told us that it should still be looked at, and set properly. So off to the hospital we all went, and three hours later, Steve hobbled out with what looked like Scotch tape on it. Didn't seem like much, you know?
He made it to work, and when he came home, Josephine cared for him. He had to put his SARS mask back on, and eat jellybean pills, and cuddle with Clarice.
The Boo Boo Bear was applied to to the Boo Boo.
Since then, we've been tip-toeing around the subject. Well, I mean, Steve brings it up a few times a day, and I make sympathetic responses. Or I make gentle inquiries, to show I care, but I never want to look at his foot if I can help it because it give me the heebie jeebies to think of his toe at that angle. It seems your pinky toe has three bones in it, and in Steve's, the bottom-most one one was cracked in half, lengthwise. The doctor drew a picture of it for us.
Steve's foot has been healing, turning lovely shades of black and purple all the way through to the sole, and now he just has a pattern of bruises at the base of his toes that look almost skeletal. He only fits into one pair of shoes, and those weigh three pounds each. Thankfully the Docs have a steel toe that protects his pinky from inconsiderate clods on the streetcar, pink kitchen stools that get knocked over by Josephines and Basset Hounds. He thinks we are wearing our sneakers just to taunt him, because his are still too narrow to fit his swollen tootsie. Steve's almost functioning fully again, and I no longer have to ask sensitive questions framed carefully like "I understand that I should be the one to put the garbage out this week, but does your wound preclude you from putting the dinner dishes away?"
I've moved the offending suitcases to the top of the new wardrobe in our bedroom, and the now smaller stack seems to pose no threat to his teensiest digits.
I want to state that I'm very very sorry that his toe was broken. We love him, we depend on him and I understand through Googlemedicine that bones take eight to ten weeks to heal whether they are pinky toe bones or giant femur bones. I am as grateful as Steve is for all the Ibuprofen has done to take away the pain. I don't think I'd handle a broken toe as gracefully as he has. I also don't think my biggest complaint would be that I was forced to wear the same unstylish pair of shoes for two or three weeks.
I'd use it as an excuse to go shopping for new shoes.
He'd walked into the pile of suitcases in his office. The pile that's been there for six months, that he'd stubbed his toe on before. They store all kinds of useful things, like out of season clothes and keepsakes. Formerly on top of the wardrobes in the room that became Josephine's bedroom, they've been living in an aesthetically pleasing column just inside the door.
It's my fault it happened, because it's my suitcase full of winter things on the bottom, and I put them there, and I read too many decorating magazines and while they say that it's attractive storage, they don't say that you should put yellow caution tape around them.
There went the sleep-in. The pinky toe was sticking out sideways. Knowing that all that happens is the toe is taped to the next one, we decided to Google medical advice just in case. I mean, nobody wants their toe to fall off due to neglect. Who knows - maybe breaking a toe can cause it to just fall off one day.
Googling told us that it should still be looked at, and set properly. So off to the hospital we all went, and three hours later, Steve hobbled out with what looked like Scotch tape on it. Didn't seem like much, you know?
He made it to work, and when he came home, Josephine cared for him. He had to put his SARS mask back on, and eat jellybean pills, and cuddle with Clarice.
The Boo Boo Bear was applied to to the Boo Boo.
Since then, we've been tip-toeing around the subject. Well, I mean, Steve brings it up a few times a day, and I make sympathetic responses. Or I make gentle inquiries, to show I care, but I never want to look at his foot if I can help it because it give me the heebie jeebies to think of his toe at that angle. It seems your pinky toe has three bones in it, and in Steve's, the bottom-most one one was cracked in half, lengthwise. The doctor drew a picture of it for us.
Steve's foot has been healing, turning lovely shades of black and purple all the way through to the sole, and now he just has a pattern of bruises at the base of his toes that look almost skeletal. He only fits into one pair of shoes, and those weigh three pounds each. Thankfully the Docs have a steel toe that protects his pinky from inconsiderate clods on the streetcar, pink kitchen stools that get knocked over by Josephines and Basset Hounds. He thinks we are wearing our sneakers just to taunt him, because his are still too narrow to fit his swollen tootsie. Steve's almost functioning fully again, and I no longer have to ask sensitive questions framed carefully like "I understand that I should be the one to put the garbage out this week, but does your wound preclude you from putting the dinner dishes away?"
I've moved the offending suitcases to the top of the new wardrobe in our bedroom, and the now smaller stack seems to pose no threat to his teensiest digits.
I want to state that I'm very very sorry that his toe was broken. We love him, we depend on him and I understand through Googlemedicine that bones take eight to ten weeks to heal whether they are pinky toe bones or giant femur bones. I am as grateful as Steve is for all the Ibuprofen has done to take away the pain. I don't think I'd handle a broken toe as gracefully as he has. I also don't think my biggest complaint would be that I was forced to wear the same unstylish pair of shoes for two or three weeks.
I'd use it as an excuse to go shopping for new shoes.
What? It's Not July Anymore?
The summer, it's flying away. If I could show it, it would look like the silhouette of a bird flying across a full moon, but only its tail and and the tip of a wing would be encircled. The rest is just a deeper shade of the darkness around the light.
At the end of July, I had a birthday. Not a milestone, just another age. When I was a child, a summer birthday was hard, because there was no attention to it paid in school. Now that I'd rather the years advance quietly, it's good to have long summer evenings to linger with friends, and mourn the passing of my youth in delightful ways.
Gifts of flowers, wild and tame are always welcome.
Gin and Tonics yes please...
New uses for old things...
Party guests who get all giddy and end up in the pool with their clothes on...
Food.
Summer foods, good bread and corn fritters made by the friend who also brought...
Chocolate and Sour Cherry Thingies!
Josephine proudly showing off her new woom to her grown-up friends...
Then, after, the things that remain. Memories, and gifts from friends who know I like books and birds and wine and chocolate and anything found that reminds anyone of me.
Then, the rest of the life moves onward, decorated with pictures of me by Josephine...
More of the ladybug costume, sometimes over nothing but underpants and magic marker...
Summer games with watermelon seeds...
And other games, like this vintage 1965 Operation game I found at an estate sale...
...which has been the soundtrack of many an evening this summer.
At the end of this video, Steve starts to say it reminds him of his Pee Wee King record. Found in perfect condition, a great score after all those years. We broke it before we could listen to it, and felt bad. It had lasted so long, but now it's gone. The Operation game, in amazing shape, is getting worn and is no longer near mint - but the important thing is that it is being enjoyed.
I'd like to think it's better to have the memories than mere things.
At the end of July, I had a birthday. Not a milestone, just another age. When I was a child, a summer birthday was hard, because there was no attention to it paid in school. Now that I'd rather the years advance quietly, it's good to have long summer evenings to linger with friends, and mourn the passing of my youth in delightful ways.
Gifts of flowers, wild and tame are always welcome.
Gin and Tonics yes please...
New uses for old things...
Party guests who get all giddy and end up in the pool with their clothes on...
Food.
Summer foods, good bread and corn fritters made by the friend who also brought...
Chocolate and Sour Cherry Thingies!
Josephine proudly showing off her new woom to her grown-up friends...
Then, after, the things that remain. Memories, and gifts from friends who know I like books and birds and wine and chocolate and anything found that reminds anyone of me.
Then, the rest of the life moves onward, decorated with pictures of me by Josephine...
More of the ladybug costume, sometimes over nothing but underpants and magic marker...
Summer games with watermelon seeds...
And other games, like this vintage 1965 Operation game I found at an estate sale...
...which has been the soundtrack of many an evening this summer.
At the end of this video, Steve starts to say it reminds him of his Pee Wee King record. Found in perfect condition, a great score after all those years. We broke it before we could listen to it, and felt bad. It had lasted so long, but now it's gone. The Operation game, in amazing shape, is getting worn and is no longer near mint - but the important thing is that it is being enjoyed.
I'd like to think it's better to have the memories than mere things.
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