It irks me that I cannot take a good photograph of my grandmother. The problem is, I am afraid to. I cannot explain myself to her. I cannot explain why I want to take a photograph of her. She expresses such a negative image of herself. I do not know how to argue with her. Even if she could hear, would she listen?

My mother knows I love to photograph her because I love her.

I think she is beautiful.

My daughter knows I love to photograph her because I love her.

I think she is beautiful.

My grandmother asked if I could please photograph the clay pots she made all those many years ago.

Their beauty is cold and unchanging. They are easy to photograph.

They do not move. They do not look at me askance.

Unable to walk or even put a boot on her still-painful foot, Iris plays outside, right outside the front door. Akiva, ever-faithful, watches as she uses one piano key to dig another piano key out of the ice.

Exactly one month and many, many x-rays after the break, the cast is scheduled to come off.

The saw is very scary. I take one photo, but then I have to hug Iris.

It is good to be hugged when one is scared.

So cute!

But itchy. Very itchy.

Iris doesn’t go to school. She couldn’t do anything there if she did. She cannot play outside. She can hardly get around inside. And so, each day, we go outside together. I pull my little Iris all around the town. (Pictured: Akiva helps.)

Crutches are difficult. Iris scoots around the house on her butt. The blocks are located right near the bathroom doorway, which is exactly where Iris builds the fancy farm, complete with silo and horse coral. It is not easy to carry blocks with a broken leg!

Still, we go out every day. Iris rides the wagon with her leg in the cast. Akiva walks or rides in the carrier. The bottom of the hill behind our house is like a skating rink, but there is no skating anymore this year.

On January 21st, 2018, I took my two children sledding down a hill that I had sledded with Akiva two days prior. The ride had been delicious: a slow, powdery descent across the slope of a field. We stopped gently at the bottom.

Two days later I invited some friends, their two similar aged kids, and Martin to re-visit the lovely slide. It was about a 45+ minute hike from the house. We dragged the kids to the top of the hill. Trusting the lovely powder, I let my children go. But it was not lovely powder. It was horrible. It was a horrible hike out, up the hill to the nearest road with Akiva bleeding from his face and Iris crying with her leg broken. Our neighbor helped me get the kids to the road. Martin ran to get the car. We drove to the emergency room.

Jack & Jill went up a hill

to fetch a pail of water.

Jack fell down & broke his crown

& Jill came tumbling after.

Iris has

the most faithful heart that ever fell in love.

Should her little heart leap into yours,

she will leave it there, for always.

Winter, winter, cold and grey.

But we can go outside to play!

When I have my brother near,

It’s as if the sun is here.

But when my brother walks away—

Winter, winter. Cold and gray.