The Last Before Christmas

Note to self: Write as a gift to Em.  Document with pictures ALL that is going on.  Write it to him as advice column, recording babysitting, etc.

Last night:

We’ve gotten Domino’s pizza repeatedly on Tuesday nights (even though the local one fired a bunch of delivery people and I saw a picket line-I can only fight you so much!)

You make paper airplanes in the vestibule.  Or try to hit me with my gloves or steal my scarf.  I try to amek sure we don’t go crazy with other people around, but yesterday a boyfriend pulled his girlfriend’s knitted cap over her eyes, playing around like we were.

You don’t like toppings.  I DO!! I ask for pineapple, cheddar and banana peppers. I even bought nice lettuce yesterday for you, dark green-the kind you like- NOT ICEBERG.  You complain that it was all WHITE! Yet you don’t like kale or spinach (and even complain that salad tastes like paper after a few bites)

You begged for peanuts (and we went crazy and got SALTED)

I’m a little sad that we couldn’t do another Xmas book this year, I really liked how it came out last year.  BUt I think you might be drawing less (me too!) and you seem to only have time for HOMEWORK and NEVER playing, or maybe jsut TV.

Your dad came home from his LAST CLASS.  (He now has 3 Master’s Degrees-unheard of in my parent’s day.  but I have 2 and even Amber has 2!)  And we are all still poor!!

We had a pizza party (and we even put peanuts on the pizza!!! We all tried it and it was much less overwhelming than suspected.

Your father hasn’t relaly invited me for the Xmas performances, you are a Narrator this year.  I wanted to hear you perform, but you couldn’t find your lines.

(Last year I asked, but the day came and went and he didn’t make it happen.  And I’m in Boston for this year. NEXT YEAR!)

When I picked you up yesterday, they let me into the building and told em to go up INTO the auditorium.  It was ENCHANTING to watch all the kids rehearse.  Now I know how it must feel so amazing for parents to feel proud of their kids. I sat for a few minutes, knowing you weren’t onstage.  You were wearing that cap I gave you.  Blue, with a tiny brim.  PErfect. (I got it from my friend who had a yard sale in Cape Cod.  We had called it a Dave Van Ronk fisherman’s cap, from the 50’s which was worn as a retro reference to the early 1900’s.  You wore it as Jack in the Magic Treehouse for Halloween.

When I showed you the clanedar my mom made of pcitures of me, you kept saying I look like a little boy (short hair)

I sang “Girl in 14G” last week to you.  We were hanign out in my room, on the little green loveseat and you asked for music.  Not from the radio(maybe the static was annoying ) “No!” you said, “YOUR music!”  I think I had only played Monkee music for you before.  But I sang, and I think you liked it.

This Xmas, you guys are singing “Consider Yourself” from Oliver, a Davy Jones song.

And “all You Need is Love” you are singing the “There’s nowhere you can be that isn’t known” part.

I dropped you off at 181 Cafe with your Dad last Friday.  Your Mom texted me and asked what I was doing for Xmas.  And asked if I wante dot come visit for the weekdn! (We haven’t spent more than 10 minutes together at 181, and she wants to open bck up! I’m hesitant, but friendly.  I WANT to have her back in my life as a friend.  And I love how she is so oepn and friednly and lets me in to your fmaily.  I’m accepting of Phil, and she’s secure with him.  Whereas I feel like your father has a deep insecurity/focused hormone-type love for Amber and they NEVER include me as “aprt of the family”.  I’ve JUST MET Amber’s parents as of 3 months ago.  

I think I’m part of Toby’s life with Rosanne and amber wants to jsut move forward.

When she told me about Toby giving her the ring, she said to hold the weekend of August 9th for her wedding. My first response: “Wow!  I’m invited?” (Because they have NEVER invited me to anything.  Ever.  period. parties, gatherings.  Even when they have people over, they don’t make a point to bring me into the conversation and exclude me.  I’d feel terrible about it, but I think that’s just how they are.  Amber is probably too young to clue into it, but Toby seems to have that from his father.  Your grandfather took you to my Mousetrap show at Taszo Cafe and seeme dvery nice, everyone seems nice in person.. i just do’t see them in person a lot. Or ever. (I had to tell him that you were a Medieval Knight for Halloween.  That’s the only other time we’ve exchnaged conversation.  Other than around your Mom’s whirlwind)

I told Toby that I probably should move out in the summer (I was hardly there last summer anyway, splashing around in Walden) I need to move on.  It’s VERY hard falling in love with other people’s kids.  Not that I want one.  I want to be with you (and your Mom) hanging out at the beach (Sunny and Sandy) and eating out and hanging out and  . . . And I don’t get that from living with Your Dad and Amber (never felt so alone living with so many people) I’d love to talk to you more about how I see things and life and whatever help I can give you.

We all have such different, busy lives. I’m very grateful for the moemnts we DO get to have together.

We all measured each other on the wall yesterday.  (Amber wasn't there) Your dad is a good 3 inches taller than me, which I still don’t believe.  AND YOU GREW 3 inches in almost exactly a year!!! (I think last year you measured it on the day your fmaily came for a visit. And you read your story about Santa using a goldfish as Rudolph!!

(Your Mom thanked me for giving you that journal with the Eye on it.  It got it from Dawn, Scrumpy’s Mom. I tried to write a story in Spanish in it, but you ripped it out.  And started rawing guys in it.  I had also tried to write you a story in Spanish about 4 glitteyr stones, but after you ripped the pages out, I lost the heart for it.  Even  though you told me to continue because you said, ‘I’m interested!”  the most positive feedbakc I’ve gotten about my writing!! (I don’t show things to people -outside of my writing group)

I got up today at 6:30 to watch you go off to school.

You held your head forward and I couldn’t tell if you were doing the Grinch or Cindy Lou Who. You looked very cute either way!

Xmas photos

Gingerbread House Pictures

Seeing the Engagement Video And Retching

Oh, my little Prince, O Little Boy, I have been focusing on the wrong story.

It is Thursday Night, we have just had pizza and watched cartoons about taming dragons.

Your Father arrived home.  And he showed you the video.

THE VIDEO.

The one he had spent the past 10 months working on, taking Cody the dog to Fort Tryon Park.  The Lady of Lacksley (where is she from?) and he of Hudson Heights.

"Weren't you embarrassed to walk around the park like that?" you asked.

You were watching, and we made sure to get your reaction (my idea).  Amber didn't have room, but your Dad's phone did.  (Silent communication on their part).

The video was twee.  And frankly, it's a huge shock/surprise (but not really).  Amber and I have been living in the apartment about the same amount of time, 2 years.  As soon as your father mentioned he wanted to do a surprise for her last week, I KNEW it was a proposal.

He had been planning for a long time.  Wanting everything to be just right. Sweet.  (And somehow, I can't imagine someone doing that for me, nor can I imagine I want that.  I want to be the one telling the story, in control of the story.  I would hate it if the story was better than I could imagine.

Quite honestly, it did seem SUPER romantic.  I did what I could to stop myself from retching the first time I saw it-but only because that is not what I would want.  Something so obvious, something that comes so easily to both of them.  Or maybe I cannot tolerate other people's stories.

But I am a grownup, and quite honestly, I learned a long time ago to react (under circumstances) the way people want you to react. LAUGH at the comedians' jokes.  Look sympathetic when your friend is sad.  Do not be mean.  When people are offering their stories to you, LISTEN to them.  Basic advice you should ALWAYS follow (It's more important than you realize).

Because you are 9, you retched.  Repeatedly.  We were your audience, hoping that you'd say, "GREAT!!" and understand that your Dad is marrying Amber and that will be your life and your future (because, in a sense, you are marrying her too. And Cody, the dog)

Now, I should return to the stories I have about princes & magic.  Maybe incorporate it all together.

Currently working on a NaNoWriMo book: "The Swimming"

MATH Museum

We have been watching a whole morning's worth of cartoons.  You were up at 7:30 and we didn't leave the house until noon.  all cartoons all the time, until we were bored.  I remember Saturday Morning Cartoons. ALL Morning, until Captain Kangaroo around 11:30, and then just stuff for adults.  I had Bugs Bunny and Scooby Doo.

Your mom calls 2 hours before she's supposed to pick you up.  She sounds tired and also surrounded by death.  Of friends, of people who are not in the hospice circles.  People who are supposed to stay alive.  She can't come.  I hear your voice go dull, like it does on the phone when the distant parent is distant.  Darwinian survival.  It is the same tone of voice I hear when your dad calls and we have made it to Madison Square Park.  (And are eating our cookie & chocolate croissant, today I am spoiling you!)

Your dad said to go somewhere wacky, and because he's your dad, you imagine that he has a place in mind.  But I had walked by a few weeks before, I looked in and saw kids.  I wanted to go and I was even happier to bring you.  Turns out, it was kinda perfect.

MATH MUSEUM

We go inside and the first thing I see is the Triangle Trykes.  We try them on.  Then wander to a building-table where they have a huge number of erector set pieces.  Then we wander to The Matharium where you play on the computer, designing a Dodecahedron (12 sided shape) with many faces and vectors.  (There's a contest and I vote as much as I can) 

Then there's a car ramp game, where you have to negotiate with the other boys around you (more 7-10 year old boys in one space than I've seen anywhere!  Only one girl)  

Downstairs is a dance floor that changes every 20 minutes, you love that.  A fractal camera that makes you look like a tree of pictures of yourself and a laser cutter that creates a giant puzzle out of tessellations.  

Basically, you did everything as much as you wanted, we stayed for 4 hours.  It was awesome!!

I also taught you those three words, which you were happy to show off to your dad.  And he was impressed.

Excellent day, kid.

Living Room Fort!

Myles & kid

Benefits of having a 9 Year Old Roommate

Free temporary tattoos!!
Scooby Doo vs the Cyber Virus!
Dog Fort!!

Building Parade!!

Costumes!

Queen Bunny Head!!

Medieval Knight!!

Pumpkin Carving

Myles among the Pumpkins

Halloween Comics

Mine is:
Hey Cody, look! I'm the Great Pumpkin!!
Oh no!! A talking pumpkin!!
No Cody!! It's me!! Myles!
Oh no!! A talking dog!!

E's is "in process", about Myles dressing like a wolf for Halloween and Cody getting really scared by that!!

I Am Said the Old Woman

When she turned to the Old Woman and asked,

"How are you?  I hope you are well! Tell me, I really want to know!"

The Old Woman would say:

"I am."

And when pressed,

"I am.  I am.  That I am."

Or, for variety:

"I'm doing."

But only when asked, how was she doing.

Or other times, when the Girl had less patience:

"That's not an answer!"

The answer would be delivered with a mischievous smile:

"It's not.  It's not. It's terrible.  So very terrible,"

As if the very words were being played with, not for meaning, not for communication.  But sounds, merely echoes of familiar sounds.  Familiar songs, played back.  And as long as you could still sing the songs, that melody was enough of an answer.

Magic Spoon

OKay, so I'm not a great cook.  And the Kid knows ("You're not magic"), but he's got a sense of humor.  Well, okay not really, I still have to explain myself to him.

"Don't I cook you the best cereal in town?"
"Um, no.  Cereal isn't cooked.  Ya pour milk over it.  And I poured milk over it, not you!"

That part was true, he had crashed momentarily on the couch while I pretended he was lost and went to look for him in the bathroom.  When I came back, I was actually surprised to find him where he should be.

I asked the dog, in a somewhat sincere voice, "Cody!?!?  Where he??  I lost the kid!!"

But there he was, a huge smile, actually eating his breakfast (instead of playing with it, like he/we did last week.  The Grand Battle of the Bran Flakes against the Pecans.  Long story short, they both lost)

Breakfast was him, still puffy eyed and bleary, hair unsettled down and talking about some dream where he went back in time.  And visited his father as a kid!  I wanted to press him for details about how he KNEW he was back in time, wanting to put my impressions onto him.  Did he recognize that the food labels had a different design?  The apartment had tackier art?  But all he kept saying was, "It was really . . . weird"  Which for a kid, can mean a million different things.

So I gave him a spoon, a plain wooden spoon, a simple giveaway from The Taste of France event in Bryant Park.  People were crowding the booths so much, you'd think they were GIVING things away. But no, the only samples I had were of an olive oil and butter.  Given to me just past the Eiffel Tower sculpted out of butter.  (And it tasted like Portuguese mornings by the ocean.  So fresh, you could dive in)

I wanted him to read the label of the spoon, (he reads so little!) but he shrugged as if it was in French.  I took it back and realized it was in script.

"Behold your magic spoon, giving you access to the marvels of a mysterious school and the fantastic secrets of French fine dining . . . " and a secret word: ONLYLYON

He shrugged again and said, "If it's magic then maybe it can make you . . . disappear!"

I closed my eyes like I was a squirrel, hoping I wouldn't be seen.  It didn't work on him.

And then it was almost time to go and he didn't have pants. "I don't have any Flexible Pants!" he cried.  I began going through the neatly piled pairs on the floor.  "What about this?"  Slacks, not jeans, but not sweats.

"I need Sweats!  They need to be Flexible clothes, I have gym today!"

I dug a little deeper and found some.

He turned to me, wide-eyed, "It's the Magic Spoon!"

"Thank you, Magic Spoon!"  I said, and then he said, both eager to take our magic wherever we can get it.

And later, when he and the dog were the first ones in line, he saw a van double parked in front of the bus stop.

"I wish that van would move!"  he kept repeating.

Assuming that it would be gone from that busy spot within the next 20 minutes, and seeing someone walking up to it with keys, I said, "Ask the Magic Spoon."

He did and it worked.

I found the website, www.chef-factory.com/ .  And watched the mysterious video, which starts with a boy that looks a little bit like The Kid.  But ti turned into a bizarre cartoon, so i still don't understand if it is a restaurant or a cooking school.  Somehow, it looked as if it was.  But to attend the school, you have to go to Lyon, be an infant and also be a cartoon.

When the dog and I got back, I had a sense that the dog was watching me too closely.  Like he's a spy or has a hidden camera behind his eyes (now THAT's a conspiracy theory).  Or maybe he was just a soul watching me, watching how I treat him, and me noticing him makes me more vigilant over my own interactions with humans.

And that counts as effective Magic too.

That Tiny Thing

He knew it was just a matter of a speck of mold in your yogurt.

One drop of poison in the well.

That fear in the pit of your stomach that you will play a single wrong note in the middle of a sonata.

He didn't mind perfectionism.  Or practicing too much.

He minded knowing.

That tiny voice.

That speck of unlawful crumb when your kitchen was supposed to be spotless for the sacred holy days.

That one thought, planting itself like a seed.  Sprouting in your mind and down into your genitals, until it consumes your insides with its insidiousness.

One thing spoils it all, and so he must be on guard.

Against everything.

The Same Person

You are all the same person.

The Little Boy, tricky and antsy.  Trying to turn everything into a game and pushing away words that smell vaguely of homework or wholesomeness.

The Old Man, lonely in the dark.  Cowering.  Anxiety has filled him up.  A knot in his stomach he used to recognize as too much coffee or apprehension.  Would the mortgage be paid?  What if the WORST happens? Fire?  Car accident?  Now, nothing is at stake.  And he is terrified all the time.

But the Grown Man, sitting in the car, thinks only of his disguises.  The warm smiles he gets as the Little Boy.  The cold shoulder as the Old Man.

His major Test of them all.

He will only love those people who love him at every age.

And if they manage to pass that Test, he will make up others.

He stands in the hallway.  Waiting for the elevator.  Looking straight ahead, a grown man, peaceful in this moment.  But when he emerges, he might have shapeshifted into someone else.  This is the secret power he tells nobody about.

When he emerges, he will be His Own Mystery.

Profile: Who Natalie Became

Once upon a time, there was a girl named Natalie.  Natalie Battle.  And it was an excellent name for this girl because she NEVER GAVE UP.  HEr idea was that PERSISTENCE LEADS TO GREATNESS.
In fact, she believed in that phrase so much, that she painted it o her bedroom wall.  Which didn't make her parents happy.  Even if their daughter was only 7 and knew how to spell words like "persistence", it was still not a good idea to paint on the walls.

Her favorite discoverer was Johannes Kepler, who had an "aha" moment, like an apple landing on his head.  He was discussing Platonic Solids and their ratios. And he realized that the planets followed something similar.  She loved him because he was wrong.  There was no connection between those 2 things, no matter how much he was trying to understand them or fit those two ideas together.  And then, somewhere along the way, he discovered the laws of planetary motion.  Persistence.

And she grew up to work for a group of people who send rockets into the sky.  She decided to dedicate her life to studying a patch of sky.  She was not a person who liked to be limited, but in this case, there was too much to look at.  If you stretch your hand out in front of you, the palm of your open hand was the size and scope of her study.  She said, "Okay, you can limit me to the size of my hand, but I demand a piece of the sky."  It turned out that there are 250 million stars in that tiny piece of sky.  So her work was still not limited.

And later, her own rocket, which cost millions of dollars, more than all the cars in the state, her rocket was stalled on the moon.  2 wheels broke.  And so the patch of sky she was focused on had to go on existing with her and her understanding.  But someone else created a new idea, and so she stumbled onto other discoveries.  Persistence.  (It's the secret to science.  There is no end.  There is only the possibility of you giving up.  Don't give up.)

http://www.onbeing.org/program/on-exoplanets-and-love/5029
http://www.flickr.com/photos/speakingoffaith/8480735637/sizes/l/in/photostream/

Gonna Buy Me A Dog

Hey L,

So I saw on FB that R got a dog.  Finally.

Perhaps you were thinking of using it as an entre to ask me to help out.  More contact.  Which it may/may not be.

When I AM there (which has been less and less nowadays, especially since mid-June, now August), I tend to use the elevator when I come in.

Because I have a certain amount of dread when passing your window.

Dread that I will/won't see you.  That you will make good on your promise ("Just be patient") and suddenly try to befriend me.  (Which is where the dread comes in)

Oddly enough, I am watching a movie, Red Lily (1928, silent), not paying attention but there was a scene of a girl, crawling on the floor . . . "I waited so long"

I've stopped being her a long time ago.

I don't understand you and your Bipolar Diagnosis.

Didn't you say how betrayed you felt when you lost friends?  How on your birthday that you only had 2 emails and no phone calls?  (I hope you understand that YOU brought that on.)  I was committed to the idea that I would be the ONE friend who would remain faithful to you, despite all your moods.  Despite everything that you feel yourself burdened by.

It was almost exactly a year ago when you invited me over.  When Rx had her "whirlwind" and you had your . . . Whatever It Was (you never told me).  I thought we had faith in each other (at least that's what you said in all those emails)

For a long time I sensed that you have chosen your piano teacher over me.  He's a "boy" too, and you spend time together, in ways that are easy and artistically seductive.  And that's what your philosopher soul wants, isn't it?  Eloquent words and aphorisms, but real world friendships are too difficult for you.

No matter what you've said.

And so now, you are still cruel.

Things remain unresolved between us.  Perhaps this is the worst part of your diagnosis, and you remain unaware of it-caught up in what you experience as your worst symptoms-you have NO idea how you hurt people.  Or maybe you do, and that is why you hide in your "hermit" persona, and like a little boy, you wallow in the fact you have no/few friends.

So now, I hope you treat the dog well (I have no idea what your capacity is for violance) and take it for walks, and I hope that you find some measure of happiness.

Yes, even now.

No matter how used I feel, what a sucker I am, how naiive and foolishly generous with my friendship, I wish you balance and peace and contentment.

I do say a prayer, a mantra along those lines when I pass by your window.  It's helped me (and somehow, I hope it has helped you)

Self Awareness

I strive to be aware of myself. Not overly kind or judgmental, just aware of what habits I fall into, what traps, what triggers and how I react to things and people.

My Father was the enthusiastic one. My Mom was/is always sick and unmotivated. The first to say no, or stay at home.

Depressed, in a word. I've gotten some of that from her. Tonight was a VERY typical night for us. I urged her to get out of the house & see fireworks. I drove her to Lexington a few nights ago, she stayed in the car. Last night, I went alone. Tonight , we went back and forth about where to go, what to do. And she talked about Tony. And how her first AC didn't work because the walls were so hot in her first ATTIC apartment.

Complaining and telling old stories. I stay quiet. She even talked about the huge waste of money that fireworks are and how she wants to be far away from the people.

I have nothing to say. And I am the only person to listen to her.

She can be happy, Joe made her laugh a lot. Which I can appreciate now. Humor, simple, unsophisticated and repetitive, but excellent for the heart. I can't seem to wipe this frown off my face.

Depression is awful. And manifests itself in a refusal to enjoy life, and in not holding out hope for the people you love. We are in the middle of a heat wave, so everyone's grumpy.

Most times, I have a better time by myself than being with someone.

We all need to be kind to each other & not take each other for granted.

Unresolved Issues

Dear L,

I sent you a letter last year, after August. When we had decided to keep being friends.

I asked about what you knew about your diagnosis, about yourself.  If you were violent, what I should expect.  All sorts of things.

You never answered me.

When I try to press you about hanging out in person (vs endless emails) you seem to get angry.  Yet you ask for my continued patience.  (Believe me, I am patient)

You seem to hang out with other people, at least that's what you tell me.  I get mad that you don't hang out with me (because that's what I think of as a friendship).  There have been LOTS of emails and frankly, the make me crazy.  I'm a girl and think talking is of primary importance.  Plus, it makes me check my emails every few minutes, because if I get you in a communicative mood, then you'll send a bunch of emails back.

I keep wanting to write to you, but it seems like I'd be begging for something I don't even like.

You texted me when I was in Boston.  In December.  You were thinking about your own death.  Again, you wouldn't let me talk to you.  You were NOT alone, and I'm pretty sure you had some alcohol.

I think I'm someone you talk to when you are Manic.

I think you are waiting for a time in your life when you can talk to people in a mania, or a subdued mania. I think you are waiting to get back on track somehow.  My persistence has been based on an idea that brief interactions can help you get back on track somehow.  But now I see that it's impossible.  And I'll wait through the summer.  (We didn't talk last summer, after a fight)  I'll wait forever.  But I don't know what I'm waiting for.  I don't know who you are.  I've been waiting to get to know you.  Maybe this is you.  Maybe if I didn't need anything from you ever, it would be easier (but what is the point of a polite friendship like that? We were honest with each other)

Everytime I think about you, I end up in this spiral.  How I should be nice to you, how I get a tremendous sense of PEACE when I think about you.  How this all seems unfinished.  And then I think about how you don't let me in, how you were open once and now you are closed and cold.  And how you said how you don't like being cold.

I need to stay away from you. There's nothing we can give each other from this friendship.  (Other than neighborly friendship and treasures of being humans on this earth.  Laughter, conversation, exchange of smiles, etc.)

Little Green Cars and "Devil in the White City"  (You are charming, but you said you have a "Dark Soul".  There's a reason girls get attracted to danger)

Superman and The Mom

11:15am, Monday in June, getting up to 95 degrees

"Really good to see you again!"
"Yeah, you too!"

One neighbor to another, former, neighbor.  As they pass each other on the street.  They are both heading to their cars.  She will drive back to a new place in NJ, a long commute after 2 apartments so close by.  Homes that don't exist for The Mom anymore.

If he is feeling good, he may drive to the grocery store.  And be back in time for alternate side parking to end so he can get his favorite spot in front of the entrance to the courtyard.  He is tall.  He is a Blond Superman.  He doesn't leave his apartment when he is sad.

Almost a year ago, he had started confiding in a Girl.  He told her about his diagnosis.  Mixed Bipolar.  The worst.  He was diagnosed 25 years ago, after a bad episode.

Within a few weeks, he would have the worst episode he had had in 25 years.

During that Sunday day of 350 emails, the world was shifting for the woman with the car.  She had never been so depressed.  She tried to pick up some meds, but the place was closed.  A mixture of self medication (beer & pot) and pills (Prozac or something like it).  The kind that can trigger a worse episode if you don't have the proper diagnosis.

The Mom was so sad and alone.  Except for the Little Boy.  And the Cat.

Instead of buying pills, she bought antifreeze.  That midnight, she sent a text to her ex-husband.  "By the time you get this, all three of us will be gone"

The ex-husband didn't get it til Tuesday morning, when he was driving back from a hiking trip.  By then, the crisis of the moment had been averted.  The Girl who was on the other end of the 350 emails had called the suicide hotline for her friend.  She was just "The Roommate", but had gotten custody for a few hours of the Little Boy.

The Girl heard this exchange between neighbors, knowing that sometimes it is easier to just say hi than to have a real conversation.  They are people connected through the Girl, she knows both of them very well.  Or rather, she USED to know them.  Used to recognize similar symptoms.  Saw the same sadness between them.

And they walk the street easily, saying hi.

The Girl hears this conversation from her window.  And her heart races to see these people.  Wanting them to be happy.  In friendship, wanting the friendship to extend to her as well.  Unaware of how to be friends with them anymore.  Superman and The Mom don't want to be connected through the GIrl anymore.  They have moved on from that weekend in August, that end of the summer.

Here it is, June, and they have moved on, however.

The Girl is still grieving for the loss of the friendships.

Fictional Character Day & Dance Steps

The last picture is me (after painting the whole gallery in Community Board 12!) holding up the Paper Airplane you made.

The first picture is you dressed up as Jack from the Magic Treehouse, from a book about the 1903 earthquake. "Earthquake in the Morning"?

The other is a drawing you did to explain a show at school. I told your father I wanted to go, but he didn't call. (I didn't push it)

My Room, You Cutting Out A Dragon