almost

I've been thinking alot lately about when I was pregnant with Noah. I knew it so early! And I felt so nervous-excited inside.

One day I was shopping at Target, and I let myself walk all slow and nonchalant down one of the baby aisles--like I just happened to be passing through that part of the store, for no particular reason--and then I laughed at myself, and thought, Seriously, who am I kidding?! What do I care? and turned around and walked up and down all the rest of those aisles too. I looked at playpens and highchairs and carseats and bouncers, pacifiers and blankets and diaper bags and bibs. I touched things with reverence, if at all; tracing the different patterns of owls and stripes and flowers with my fingertip, and dreaming. I smiled at the sweet and clever things written on some of them, and decided what I would choose if I could. I was drawn already toward the things meant for boys.

Later I went to the book section. I picked up a pregnancy magazine, and I remember I just stared at the cover for the longest time. Like, Do I dare? And, But what if I'm not? What will I say to the cashier? Or, What will J say if she sees it? Then an associate came and asked me if I needed any help, and scared me half to death.

I ended up putting the magazine back. I didn't trust myself, yet. Now I wish I had bought it. I wish I had trusted the depth of those feelings, wish I'd been able to show myself that kind of support. It seems kind of sad that I didn't.

I remember though, regardless. I remember how those days felt, and it makes me happy--because I believe now that my instincts are accurate, and good. I know that I'll recognize it when I feel it again; and I am so much stronger now. I will be able to trust myself. And hopefully, when it's time to walk those aisles again, I won't be alone.

for Sophia, because she asks so sweetly

This is part of a story that I wrote yesterday, upon request. It needed to be about 'a mean queen, and a nice princess, and a magic tree.'

Sarina felt her heart breaking.

The ash tree reached out its branches to her as if they were arms. It could not speak, but the princess knew the tree well, and she knew too that this was an offer of help. She stepped closer, brushing the tears from her eyes, and took a deep breath. She wrapped her arms around the tree, pressing herself closer and closer still, and the trunk shifted at her touch, opening itself up and making space for her inside. The king and queen arrived just in time to see her slippered foot vanish, and the bark heal smoothly over the place the princess had stood just moments before.

“NO!” shouted the king. He sat down where he was, and began to cry. “No, no, no. My little Sarina. My princess.” He cried and cried and cried, because he knew he had been wrong, and because he was so sorry, and because he knew that now he would never see his little girl again.

While the king was crying and everyone else who had just arrived was still wondering what had happened, the queen slipped away. Out the gates she ran, as lightly and quickly as she could. Far into the forest, away from the guards and the laws and the dungeon, and the eyes of the heartbroken king.

Every day for a week, the king went out to the courtyard, to stand under the princess’ favorite tree and weep for her some more, and also to feel sorry for himself. But on the last morning, as he approached, he noticed that the leafy branches were covered with tiny new flower buds, where no flower buds had ever been before. When he got closer, and looked up, he forgot all about his tears—for the buds all burst suddenly open, as if on cue, into beautiful soft pink flowers with bright white centers at their heart.

The king knew then that the princess was not really gone. The sweet little petals, floating down, showed him that Sarina was safe now, and happy, and that he was forgiven, and that she loved him still.

And that is all anyone ever needs to know.

wishful thinking

"Oh, but you musn't!" said the little girl.
"Why not?" growled the bear. "WHY NOT?"
"Because!" shouted the girl, with all of her might, throwing her arms up in the air. Then she whispered it, dropping her arms again and looking suddenly very, very small. "...because."
And that tiny whisper broke the big bear's heart, broke it neatly in half like the two pieces of a walnut, and he sat down hard with the shocking swiftness of it, and the tears in his eyes.
"Oh," said the bear, "I see." And he did.
He really did.

Things that are in the kind of stories that are interesting and good:

bears
wolves
princesses
children
princes
treasures
fairies/elvish folk
stepmothers
kings
frogs
birds
danger
love
secrets
justice
magic
loss
perseverance
failures
success

Hmm. According to this list (which I wrote up myself, but that's not the point), I think my stories could really end up being interesting and good. And also true; with the names changed, of course, to protect the innocent and the guilty alike.

These things are in everyone's story, every day. I know some bears, and kings, and frogs; I know some princesses and fairies, too. And I know that just because not everyone sees things the same way, or calls them the same thing, it doesn't mean they're not real.

Vancouver 2010

I went to Vancouver yesterday with a friend of mine. We didn't have tickets to anything; we just wanted to say that we were there during the Vancouver Olympics. And it was so much fun!


We met lots of really nice, helpful people (with all kinds of accents), and took the skytrain everywhere. The Olympics people in their aqua jackets, scattered every few blocks all over the city, were super knowledgable and helpful too. And everything was amazingly clean.

We watched the hockey game on bigscreens at the Edgwater Casino, then hit the streets to celebrate the win with the crowds as they poured out of Canada Hockey Place. There were Olympic Athletes, ecstatic Canadians... and sad Russians.


I had a maple leaf on my face and a Canada toque on my head, and I got high-fives and hugs from strangers, and yelled alot, and was swept up into an impromptu rendition of the Canadian National Anthem. It felt good to be part of something big and noisy and happy.

I must have walked at least six miles all over Vancouver. I got home around midnight, exhausted but pleased. It was so worth it.

impossible

"But that is impossible," said Peter.
"Magic is always impossible," said the magician. "It begins with the impossible and ends with the impossible and is impossible in between. That is why it is magic."

Kate DiCamillo, The Magician's Elephant

onions

Last night I was making dinner, and explaining to the girls that they should always eat their onions because onions help make your heart strong. Their brother walked in and summed it up at the end: So, the same strength that makes you cry, goes into you, to make you strong?

And that really struck me, for some reason. The words seem to contain something profound, if I could only grasp it properly...

sunshine and chalk dust

(inspired by Katie Sokoler)

stunning

If you watch this at all, watch it in fullscreen, please.

Film by Alex Roman of The Third & The Seventh (discovered here.) "A FULL-CG animated piece that tries to illustrate architecture art across a photographic point of view where main subjects are already-built spaces. Sometimes in an abstract way. Sometimes surreal." If you don't understand, I'm afraid it can't be explained. But if you do... If you do, it's transcendent.

At the midpoint, (about 7 minutes in) it becomes about light and air in motion, and I almost cried it's so beautiful.