rainy days and other blessings
What is happening here is that it’s raining. Raining, as in this regular thing that you don’t have to desperately pray for, nor purposely leave car windows down in hopes of chumming in the roving clouds while superstitiously pretending not to actually care.
More snow now than in winter.
Last Friday, downtown with the kids, taking respite from the downpour in a magazine store we love to loiter in, Dan texted me, “Welcome to the New Age” (a nod to the post-apocalyptic song all the kids these days love, or at least our two kids and their friend Cedar who introduced them to it).
Indeed. Everyone is walking around pleasantly bewildered, making back-up plans for outside events, and if you’re Col, noting, “it’s troubling to hear a plane and look up and not be able to see it because of all the clouds.”
Col and his agent doing business with airplane cards in a real airplane hangar at Animas Air Park.
Also, what’s happening here is Col has created a new business, Col’s Aviation Art, in which he draws custom portraits of people’s airplanes. I catch my breath when I hear him on the phone with a client, his shy, hesitant voice squeaking out, “Hi, this is Col, the airplane artist. Your portrait is ready.” Yesterday he was sketching at the kitchen table, muttering about deadlines.
We finished the final Harry Potter book last week and I’m having a bit of a hard time moving on. Everytime I open our new book, I can’t help but feel there just aren’t enough owls. We did name our new foster kitten, Hagrid, which helps a little.
Rose asked, Is it legal to post pictures of cats and rats together?
Every night at sunset we (Dan) slip the six baby chicks in the coop with the five adult chickens, when everyone is all dopey on melatonin and not likely to notice the interlopers, and then in the morning we (Dan) bring the babies out to their daytime daycare. We actually forgot to make a plan for integrating the generations. Whoops.
The payoff for packing out elk ribs.
While I spend most days contemplating, doubting, celebrating and generally over-thinking my life, Dan will happily pass an entire day pushing on the fibers of a brained elk hide with rocks and antlers, softening them into a permanently butter-soft garment, feeling like he’s in the exact right place at the right time. And developing really nice muscles.
Col and his homeschool co-op cronies celebrating 4 yrs of learning and playing together on a backpacking trip. Verdict is: more please!
My summer project is helping the kids to appreciate each other. (I don’t mind the mundane bickering over who gets the coveted privilege of holding the dustpan while the other is burdened with the broom, just wake me when the floor is swept), but I do want them to see each other as allies, as precious kin needing mutual kindness and compassion, or at being least worthy of “bad acupuncture.”
Rose: Col, do you want the good acupuncture or the bad acupuncture?
Col: the bad acupuncture for 12 minutes, then switch to surgery.
Which is to say, one strategy that seems to be working to build sibling bonds is to go outside and plant tomatoes for two hours and leave them to their own, strange devices.
Files from the Raising a Boy Department:
Col: Hey Dad, wouldn’t it be fun to take the model airplane I just built, send it down a zipline and set it on fire?
Dan: Sure. Grab my camera and take a video.
The burning plane came apart, half of it landing on the plastic greenhouse roof below, causing a disembodied adult male voice to shout on the video, “Get the fucking crutch!” Good thing Rose had bought a pair of adult crutches at a garage sale last year, which have been malingering in the yard, but came perfectly in handy to scoot the burning chunks of balsa wood off the greenhouse roof just in time.
That’s all for now, lovely people.