I think that the proper name for a grouping of children would be a “chaos.”

As in: “There was a small chaos of children at Heather’s house again.”

Hymie was Dan’s friend for longer than he’d like to admit. Hymie went into the attic with other childhood toys when Dan left home. Mom and I were going through the attic, looking for toys for Iris. There are a lot of toys in that attic.

There are also a lot of mice in that attic. By some fluke of box location and Hymie location within the box, the mice had not yet met Hymie. However, despite lack of mice, there is still not much left of Hymie’s integrity.

Dan’s bravery in saying goodbye to Hymie today has given me the strength to say good-bye to any and every one of my stuffed animals should I run across them— the multitudes of which, in total, did not hold as much meaning for me as one single Hymie held for Dan.

Mom spent all day cooking. She made turkey,

sweet potatoes, broccoli, stuffing,

and cranberry sauce,

and we all ate together.

Afterwards there was some pie, but I forgot all about taking pictures when it came out of the kitchen.

November 11, 1972 – November 20, 2014

Love Explained to a Mountaineer:

Love is not
a tingly feeling all over,
a weakening of the knees, akin to the sense
of leaning over a tall cliff. That is passion.
Love is bolted deeper. Love is the rope
that keeps you from falling.

August 16, 1999

We were down in the basement cleaning and organizing and building. The current project involved working in the small, 2 ½ foot-tall cave under the stairs. We had headlamps, hammers, and an assortment of hardware.

“Ready for eating, Mama?” said Iris

“Are you hungry?” I asked. She nodded. “What would you like to eat?”

“Just mushooms,” she said. And then, “And broccoli.”

What wonderful snacks my little girl asks for!

Iris crawled into bed with me early in the morning. “I want to climb trees like my momma,” she said.

“You want to climb a tree?”

“Like momma. Wif mine friend Joshua.”

I thought a minute. “Maybe we can bike to the community garden and climb a tree.”

“Wif mine friend Joshua,” repeated Iris.

So we did.

& later, a duet—

In the field

the bales were covered.

For my birthday, I went to the jeweler and had him take a 2.5 millimeter piece out of my great-grandmother’s wedding ring. Not only has a bit of worth been removed— 2.5mm x 2.5mm x 10mm of gold is a very large flake— but a bit of my mother’s mother’s mother has been removed. It didn’t have to be this way.

I first went to the jeweler this past July, before I was to be married, because the ring was slightly too small for me. He stretched it. And stretched it. And stretched it. I cannot say why he stretched it so much. He’s the fanciest jeweler in Burlington. In general, I believe he knows what he is doing. But he made the ring so that it was too big to wear. Even in the hottest weather, it simply fell off my finger. It took me so long to go back because the thought of cutting a part from the ring turned my stomach. Now it is cut. Now I have a scrap of gold that I don’t know what to do with and a ring that will be slightly too small in the summer months. But I do have a ring that I can wear right now, today. I like the way it feels. I like the way it fits. I like the bond it symbolizes. I like the family it remembers. Although it is not as fat and heavy as it once was, it is still a big, fat, heavy ring. Now it is my wedding band.

Community Playthings

makes some wonderful, amazingly durable toys designed to encourage creative play in early childhood education.

Here, Iris plays alone with a four-car train set that is no longer manufactured.

The engine, front view, with removable top (under Iris’ butt):

The boxcar, with removable top:

The flatbed car, with vintage 70s Playskool Little Snoopy:

And the little red caboose chug-chug-chug-chug, with removable top:

Such toys need a community of children playing together (or learning to play together) to be fully appreciated.

We all need a community.