Wednesday, September 07, 2016


The rain came down. All night, most of the morning, into the day -- rain, at times loud, at times as if receding, then loud again.

The flowers drooped. (Double cosmos in the front bed.)

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Some seemed to take it in stride.

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Ed sweetly did coop duty in the morning. I predictably did breakfast preparation later, much later.

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When I picked up Snowdrop at school, I told her to hurry toward the gaga car before the next drenching rain. She already had had outdoor play in the puddles (I'm told by the teachers), which honestly sounds so incredibly fun that I wish I had been there just to watch. (I'm carrying a sack of very wet clothing -- evidence of her outdoor shenanigans.)

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At home, she wants music.

I notice that she is getting creative with her movements!

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(A ball comes into play here. Head up, steps backwards -- it doesn't take long for her to collide with one thing or another, but after a brief period of recovery, she goes right back to it.)

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On the other hand, when I engage in my own version of creative movement, she looks rather shocked. As in -- really, gaga? You sure that's within the range of normal?

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She returns to her own movements...

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And then gathers all her friends just to watch -- at which point I know she has had a very long day and needs a nap.

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In the late afternoon we play picnic.

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A lively version of it. She climbs. On the table.

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And on the various couches and cushions.

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Her wiggly small form is such a forceful reminder that we all start out free, unencumbered by the weight of what the world wants from us. She's in that free phase still. Happiest if I flip her up and around, as if she were a wet piece of laundry to hang dry. Again! -- she'll shout. One last time -- I'll retort. Again!-- she'll plead, holding up one finger. One, again! Of course, one again it will be.