Thursday - 97th

It's late afternoon and I am sitting on the porch, taking a pause from kids, animals, groceries, gardens. For a minute, I think about how warm the air feels. Hungry for that time when you wear no more than one or two articles of clothing when you go outside, hungry for that vacation feeling of the great outdoors, right there before you, in the many colors that nature has to offer, hungry for it all -- I could sit like this for a while, thinking about nothing in particular, listening to the back and forth between birds, and the occasional scratching noise of a chicken searching for whatever it is that they dig up from the dirt.

But I don't stay with those thoughts for long. Instead, I turn to something that's been on my mind in these recent weeks: how is it that we teach children to love and respect all living things that share this planet with us. All people, all of the life that unfolds before us.

You can't speak in mere platitudes, nor can you wait until a situation arises that calls for your instructional voice to tell them that what they witnessed is wrong. We see our kids and grandkids at home and there isn't much here (I would hope) that would shock the conscience and lead to a serious discussion of human weakness and failure. With my own kids, I used books as a starting point. You don't have to be preachy. Read to them "When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit" and suddenly they know. And they will ask questions. And you gauge the sensitivity of the child and you can guide them through the broader context, so that love and hate suddenly are out in full view.

It seems to me that none of this is great dinner table discussion, where conversations can be jumpy (hey, hold that thought... Sparrow, sit down and keep the cheese on your plate! now, what were we saying?) and where you can instill fear, which, after all, isn't the point. Seems to me you want to empower to think and act benevolently with confidence, with a sound moral compass, knowing that your family will always be there for you when things get tough.

So books. Compelling story lines. They shouldn't hit you over the head with their message: life is more subtle than that and we have to teach kids to spot disturbing character traits in complicated situations.

At the elementary school level, such books are not easy to find. Young adult literature has exploded with good stuff (from my scant survey of what's there). But elementary school chapter books still lag behind. All this to say -- if you know some good stuff out there, send me an email. Snowdrop and I are always looking for new good chapter books with believable characters overcoming tough circumstances and coming out stronger for it. (At home, she is reading Harry Potter, so she can handle long texts!)

My day otherwise is fairly predictable. Cats, plants, chickens.












Breakfast.






And the grandkids.






Spirited grandkids!






We checked for eggs, we made paper kites, we solved word puzzles, we build cities and villages. Sparrow?  He was all about puzzles and letters today.

So often I see the two of them being worlds apart on so many things! Fruit, for example -- she loves it to pieces, he wont touch any of it ...






(Ed, the kids, and a watermelon...)






But more often, I'm impressed  how they come together throughout the day. No more is this evident than when I offer them a splash in the wading pool. That thing is smaller than a bathtub. And yet these guys can sit in it for a long time and elicit nothing but giggles from each other!







In the late, late afternoon, Ed works to get the second rusty disc replaced on my car's brakes while I struggle to make sense of some weird bills that had come to my mom (in my care) in the last few weeks.

By evening, my bookkeeping and his brake replacement work are done.

Want to drive out to the wetlands and ponds where I biked yesterday? I saw the most amazing number of geese families...


We never do see the geese, but the drive down the beautiful rural roads to the south and east of us is pretty special.






Evening light, summer light. We're in the thick of it and it is beautiful.


Earlier, Snowdrop and I had been talking about Gaga's Summer School.
It's spectacular! -- she tells me. Except for one thing.
What ? -- I ask, even though I already know.
My friends, my best friend -- they're not there.

Ah yes. That not so small detail. Snowdrop hasn't quiet yet grasped that she will never be returning to her school again, or sharing classroom space with her best friend. Everything stopped suddenly 97 days ago. We're inventing something new, trying not to think too often about the old stuff that had to be left behind. On the upside, we are fine. Her friend, somewhere on the other side of town is fine. We are the lucky ones. We can invent and create and imagine all that is yet to come.