“I’m part of the whole universe,” Jacob tells me. I am sitting across the foot of his bed, hugging my knees, leaning back against the wall. It is dark, the nighttime quiet punctuated by Lucas’s soft snoring. Jacob’s feet push at my leg from under his striped comforter. “I feel so cozy right now, because you are next to that edge, and I have my red blanket.” He yawns. “The universe is so big and we are all part of it. Like how all the sand makes the beach.”
January is our rainy season, but it has not rained this year. Where usually by now green runs rampant, the ground is instead insistently brown. Hardy oxalis, usually so lush, speckles the bluffs with a faint whisper of color. Its yellow flowers are bright under the strange winter sun, the sky an eerily deep, cloudless blue. Continue reading
From letters to my Grandma Jan, January 2013
Saturday, Kyle and I took the boys to ride on calTrain; we went north to a town where the train station sits on the main street, right across from a big green park. We got coffees and the boys split a morning bun, and we walked in the freezing-for-here but sunny morning. We played for a long time at the playground, then wandered back up through the shopping district before riding home on the train. Jacob declared it “a wonderful-est day” and it was. Continue reading
* Our thoughts and prayers to our friends and family and everyone in Sandy’s path. Stay safe guys! xo
When our vacuum started making a death-rattle a few weeks ago, Kyle and I had different reactions. He considered the volume of the monstrous noise, amortized the cost of owning the vacuum over the last many years, and said it was “time for a new one.” I imagined it abandoned in a landfill somewhere, taking eight hundred jillion years to decompose, the jammy fingerprints of two young boys gradually petrifying as armageddon came and went. “I think we should try to get it fixed.” Continue reading
Ah, September. Your abundance, made so poignant by the shortening, darkening days. Apples and plums and green beans and corn, tomatoes and melons and peppers and figs – a crescendo that steadily builds and builds, then drops suddenly into pumpkins and haystacks and the sharp blue of October skies. September makes a serious run each year at being my favorite month.
My mom and dad divorced when I was 4. This meant many things for many people – one of the things it meant was that, three nights a week plus alternating weekends, my dad was suddenly a single parent. Continue reading