Monday, September 28, 2009

Either/ or, Both

Papa Monkey's cousin (21-ish, student, aaaaalllll the "All-American"-isms) was found in an alley.

I met his mom afterwards; a woman undone.

I cannot and will not imagine what she thinks about.

I will not.

Because I cannot. I can not.

No.


Baby Monkey anticipates JOY.
His first and consistant reaction to anything (everything) new or not, is the SMILE and the BOUNCE... what wonderful thing will my little self now experience?
Imagine that, the expectation of... JOY...


The two situations, the dichotomy, it's messing with me. Big time.

Thursday, September 17, 2009

Cemetery, today, the oldest in town. Our Founding Father buried here. My used-to-be favorite haunt. Weird, for me to be pushing a stroller with Sleeping Monkey through here... I start to pull out the (oldworntired) mindpaths, but I've left it far behind... Yet how close it is imprinted on my mind... I haven't forgotten a single grave, a single marker...

Bury me here... someday.... blessedly I tell ya, with Joggers and Walkers and schtooopid dogs, how amazing is this place?


I have to turn my mind back to Now.....

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

Day is come.

So, camping with the BabyMonkey? Really, he's not quite 9 months. And this is not fun, the camping thing, with all the monkeys; MamaMonkey is doing exactly what she does at home, only having to walk several hundred yards for (questionably potable) water to wash the dishes...

In the early morning, the fog rolls in, erasing first the mountains, then the hills, then the treetops, then the lake, then everything outside of the tiny little flame I lit that lapped up, lapped up, lapped up, chewed into the logs... A perfectly unbelievable thing, sitting in this cloud, little baby nursing wrapped in his quilt, cut off from everything, even the tent that holds the rest of my family... Oh this fog, slithering down the mountains, across the ground up to my very feet, blinding, binding...

Warmth of the babe on my breast, warmth of the fire beginning to crackle, warmth of the coffee in the percolator beginning to burble... The Crane begins its monologue...

Yes, camping with the baby. With any of the monkeys. In any of the circumstances. Finally I can just be overwhelmed, floored into silence, reverent again...