11.17.2012

Overheard

"The wall is a very bad man. It hit me on the head."

11.16.2012

Love

We've still been running the air-conditioner off and on, but suddenly it is heater weather. A simple flip of the switch, however, revealed that this means that it is going to be on and off jacket weather inside our house until the repairman comes out to fix the heater.

Texas, unlike California, actually has seasons, and this time of year, you can experience all four of them in the space of a week.

"Mama! You have ant bites, too?!"

Texas also has ants. Ants seem to be particularly fascinating to young blue-eyed boys, and Texas ants are the biting kind. Kai-kai, September, and Isaiah have always tended to stay clear of them, but Willie is enraptured with their swarming patterns, just like Nathan was at his age.

Stroking me sympathetically, Willie took a closer look at my arm.

"Oh, those aren't ant bites... you're just cold!"

He whipped his jacket off, and offered it to me. I thanked him for the sweet gesture, and told him that perhaps he could go fetch me my own jacket off the banister.

He immediately went scurrying off, and the moment he was back, and my jacket was safely in my hands, he picked up his own little black and red puffer.

"There. Now I'm going to put my coat back on. Because I'm freezing."

11.15.2012

Song

It's the sort of day where you savor your mug of hot tea, as much for the warmth as for anything else.  Where you never bother to get out of your pajamas, but you do scrub the kitchen floor--or at least part of it--and it feels so good, if only in contrast to your stuffy nose and your thickly pounding head. The sort of day when your little boy grins at you with those melty-chocolate eyes, and somehow you feel the wonder all the more for being sick.

Or maybe it's just that like a snake swallowing its tail, all those voices of silence have choked themselves off.  They've dried up and blown away in the crisp November wind, and I feel so light and glad.

I can just taste the redemption that might be, that could be, and whatever stories there will be, I rejoice that it is offered.

Do they know? Do they know?

Those words have suffocated us all for so long, speaker and hearer alike, but now those words have crumbled into ashes. At the sound of the breaking pots, they've turned on themselves in the torchlight, and those words of darkness can never again drown out the words of light.

Do they know? Do they know?

They will say what they will say, and live the story of their choosing. I hope they come stand in the beautiful wind with arms wide open, and watch the ashes blow away, as far as the east is from the west.  But whatever words they choose to live, my heart overflows with gladness at the story that's been offered.

And as for me, I will play checkers with my daughter, pour another cup of tea, and sing the song of the redeemed.