I don't need any of this

Navin R. Johnson: Well I'm gonna go then. And I don't need any of this. I don't need this stuff, and I don't need you. I don't need anything except this.
[picks up an ashtray]
Navin R. Johnson: And that's it and that's the only thing I need, is this. I don't need this or this. Just this ashtray. And this paddle game, the ashtray and the paddle game and that's all I need. And this remote control. The ashtray, the paddle game, and the remote control, and that's all I need. And these matches. The ashtray, and these matches, and the remote control and the paddle ball. And this lamp. The ashtray, this paddle game and the remote control and the lamp and that's all I need. And that's all I need too. I don't need one other thing, not one - I need this. The paddle game, and the chair, and the remote control, and the matches, for sure. And this. And that's all I need. The ashtray, the remote control, the paddle game, this magazine and the chair.
[walking outside]

Run Flat Tires

I have run flat tires on my mini-van (actually it is more like my friend Darcy says .. "Uhm girlfriend, there ain't nothin' mini about that van").

I am run flat tired these says and even more so upon hearing my darling father-in-law express with visible dismay that my tires needed to be replaced. There are lawsuits pending or resolved etc. Now I am going to somehow need to deal with the idea that I need to get my tires replaced on what feels like a new car, which I can get over, but the whole deal whereby I receive possibly free new tires if I sign away my rights to further litigation. I hate all of that stuff. I know it's no big deal but my tread is unevenly wearing these days.

Sleep Perchance to Dream

Both kids are sleeping. Jake went to camp this weekend. His kind 1:1 aide gave us the tame run-down, saying that there "were some rough spots". In truth it sounds like Jake was in a serious episode. Poor girl. She was visibly skinnier when we took the monkey off her back.

Trusting Amelia

Jake is off to Camp Costanoan this weekend. It is a marvelous place. I don't even want to write about it because I am so afraid we won't be able to get a spot for summer camp.. but it truly is a great place.
Jake's 1:1 aide this weekend is Amelia. Beautiful, young, energetic, receptive Amelia. I left notes. I left pictures of us, I left Superman, Sock Monkey and his own pillow. He will be fine. It is always me.

Ah Montana.

It flattens out in lilac waves. sunsets and sage and the bare brush. It is a smell, a chill, a sunrise met with joy. i am complete.

I feel small, as if for once I am not responsible for everything. and yet at the same time I feel like I am truly a part of every living thing on the planet.

I feel the presence of God when I am there. and in the clear skies. as if I may be heard. as if my voice and prayers might resonate and fly up from the scrub unhindered.

Mostly I feel alive. i feel like myself genuinely true: my own true self.

I feel enveloped with both the care and nonchalance that true friendship breeds. I am easily passed over by my peers’ eyes and yet my every move is carefully and exactly measured…but only in that my comfort is guarded, and my soul fed.

It is not about a vacation from everything else.
It is about a journey to me.

It would be helpful if it were closer. Surely my manna could be served within a few hour’s drive. It is the time and distance which separates it from the everyday that gives it host proportions.

My reservoir is low. and somehow the grey skies over the treeless landscape quench a thirst my everyday suburban life cannot whet with its six-pack carbonated ways.

I am the master of all cynics, and as I drive away and on towards Big Sky, my suit of armor is shed. I use the notion throughout the year to clothe me, swaddle me, until I must don heavier and heavier coats of first soft then thicker shellac. Shells to aid me through my days.

To feel the breeze unencumbered. To wake at first light by choice and retire after deciding that I have had my share of shooting stars. This is Montana.

Mostly it is you. reminding me of how I once was. That I was beautiful and smart and funny and fun and filled with hope and life. Reminding me that that I only thought I knew heartache then.

This heart, my heart, if only it could be filled in my many stop-lit town. But it is healed in ghost towns, and along highways with no speed limits.

Ah Montana
I am not missing a state. I am missing a state of mind.

Wonder Woman

both of my children like superheroes. Deciding what to do about purchasing figurines was a tough one. Jake stole a Polly Pocket from his friend Leila...and I mean he totally 100% hid it behind his back as she was leaving... then he hid it in the toy box. so we decided we needed to get him his own action figures.

When Descartes and I hit the store (this was last summer) we had one of those parenting moments..for those people who are choosing to actively parent...uhm what kind of toys do we want our kid to play with? We have been able to decide a lot of things for Jake, purely because he can't tell us what he does want. We just try to watch carefully and support his choices.

So we went with the intent, (okay my intent) to buy him a Polly Pocket set. Once we were at Toys R Us Descartes started to back away from the idea of Polly Pocket and suggested WWE Figurines. I pretty much nixed that idea immediately. We compromised on Dora the Explorer. Of course once we looked at them we realized that they were fat and stubby...exactly not what Jake had liked about the tiny Polly Pocket Dolls.

Then we started looking around and saw those GI Joe guys. My brother played with those, and with all of the Star Wars action figures. Descartes can't remember what he played with. I think he just dug under the house with his dad for his entire childhood. But I sort of have it in my head that if you have guns in your home which are real, then you can't have guns as toys. Well also I don't think guns are toys period. I don't even like water pistols..although at one point we did have a small space-man looking bubble gun to blow bubbles in the bathtub...but even that is gone now.

I said "no" to GI Joe to all of those crazy ninja figures and anything else that seemed to come with a gun a grenade or both. Then I saw Superman...and Wonderwoman

and I will finish my thoughts later since Jake thinks he can fly and is on the counter right now.

babyGap Lined Denim Jumper dress 3-6 6 m mos

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Flowers for Mom

So it is kind of crazy, but Jake has been slipping out words nearly every day. I am writing them on the calendar in the kitchen.

Later when the kids are older, instead of handing them scrapbooks tenderly pinking-sheared at the edges, multi-colored and properly stickered, I will hand them the stack of family wall calendars.. they can match up the photos later, but that calendar is one of the true records of our family. It notes not only what we actually did, the appointments we made etc..but it documents all of the things we planned on doing, all of our good intentions.. along with what we thought was important at the time (mail insurance payment...Jake new wheelchair), and what we really really wanted to do (budget check, dinner with the Shraguers) It also lists every birth, death wedding and baptism. Almost like a family bible. There are flight plans, happy faces next to the word vacation!.. and now, Jake's words.

At the beginning of the month Jake was riding his adapted bike at school with the help of his one-on-one aide Anna. She is amazing by the way. They stopped to admire a flowering cherry tree. They are in full bloom in in Bigtree City, pink tinged and abundant.

Anna asked my son, "Aren't they beautiful Jake"?
He leaned forward, thrust his hand toward the tree, grabbed a handful of flowers and said "For Jen".
For me? for me?
His teacher was so excited she called my house and left a message for me immediately.

It is age appropriate for Jake to refer to me by first time. At this age kids have sort-of figured out that there parents have their own identity.

Later that evening, as Jake was in his bed and the lights were off leaving only the light from the stairwell.. I snuggled in next to him and asked if he had maybe picked the flowers for Janet his teacher. He made no sound. When I asked if they were really for me... he said, very quietly "yeah."

They sent home the one flower that stayed in his hand all the way back to the classroom.

I have pressed it in my Shakespeare tome...on the same page where I saved the flowers his daddy gave me for Valentine's Day in 1996.