oh, plowman, why did you have to go and mow these over?, originally uploaded by young@art.
sous chef at chez alis
sous chef at chez alis, originally uploaded by young@art.
I took Chas up to Skyline so we could bother my friend Alis on a workday.
Under the hazy sun I sat in the lounge chair while Chas made lunch and Alis took a work call. He wasn’t just making lunch, he was his own Iron chef competition. More complicated than that, even, because it involved acrobatics and small Tonka trucks. After about 45 minutes, he was done, and only after he had told me so, not a minute before.
Nevermind the fact he was playing right beside an actual plot of bolting kale, cabbages and beet greens.
When I brazenly picked up the plant saucer full of broken sticks, he furiously demanded I take the saucer with the crumpled up dandelion greens that had been yanked out of the ground and plunged into the water trough with the drowned bees and rusting scrap metal. I mean, salad.
“NO!” He demanded, “That’s not yours! That’s Alis’.”
There are two particularly delicious sounds that make me happy. One is the low-pitch quiet sound of the barn in the afternoon, when the horses are chomping on grain and hay. I love this lulling sound. The other sound I adore is the high-pitched, little-mouth delicious sound of Chas, pretending he is eating sticks and twigs. So there we had pretend lunch ad afterwards, as he played, I sketched.
 
infinity, to the power of 6
to the power of 6, originally uploaded by young@art.
I’ve been facing inward somewhat, lately, so it hurts a bit at the end of the day to look at some of the photos I took of the kids this weekend. I see the boys, living loud as they usually do, resilient to being ignored from time to time and obviously overlooking my inconsistencies as a parent.
They stretch so far! Infinity is a new favorite word with Ford. On a 6×6 yellow card, I write a note to him, late at night: a just-love card, with a footnote of grief. I could always respond better, be more consistent, listen every time. That I don’t, I think he forgives. I stare at this picture, listening to the sleepy sounds of the house at night, hoping that he always understands the infinity of my love or him.