boo

...as in, boo to war and the depravity of mankind and families being separated. As Skip is somewhere in transit, and the kids and I search our outdated globe for possible locations, I am surprised at my desperate desire to crawl back under my blankets right after porridge and hot cider, and shut out the world and sleep for a while longer. Which I do, while occasionally being summoned out of my headachey sadness by Ronan searching in vain for his ninja stars, and Toby disgustingly licking his butt while curled up behind my knees.

My heartache manifests itself in odd ways; yesterday Cedahlia's first grade class visited a retirement home in costume, which was fun and cute on the outset, but had a nearly crippling affect on me, that contrast between sweet, young life and oldness. She haunts my thoughts, the woman who was so clearly delighted at 75 children singing and reciting spooky poetry, while her body betrayed her with its twitches and jerks, causing the kids to steer clear of her. Sometimes when I am out and about and I hear a baby cry, my eyes well up and I have to leave the area. Desperate, needy cries that demand comfort and oddly break my heart.

In New Orleans last week our midwest niceness interfered with our sitting peacefully on a bench facing the Mississippi. I thought we should clap for the lone, not super talented gentleman, who sang along with his recordings. And lo, there he was right up in our faces, insisting he 'had a song just for us', which was probably entitled, "Now You Have To Buy My Crappy cd, Or At The Very Least Drop A Fat Tip In My Hat". His face mere inches from ours, giving special attention to first one, then the other, he sang and displayed his chew riddled teeth and lack of physical boundaries. I wish, oh I wish I had just snapped a picture right then, or at least snapped one of Skip's funny, uncomfortable smile as we endured our serenade. What I keep thinking about is his lack of charm, and under-the-surface anger and desperation. When Skip very gently declined on the cd offer, he was done with us and resolute.

Here is Skip standing firm on the no-cd-buying. I will cherish this picture forever, for the memory it contains, but also for how his butt appears to be fighting against the fabric.

My kids are very happy today, in light of getting a package from grandma yesterday and trick or treating with friends tonight, and my promises of raking humongous leaf piles solely for them to jump into. And so, at 11:00am, I am going to drag myself to the shower, and choose to rest in God's peace and be a non news watcher and do all the things that make my babies happy, because that's all I can do for today.

cold comfort farm....has little to do with my subject, but I love saying it

Today was the perfect autumn day for Jester Park, one of our favorite spots to peacefully spend an un- predetermined amount of time playing in the water, watching the bison and elk, and eating Pizza Lunchables which thankfully Ronan had the good sense to decide were not really even food. It was brisk this morning, and there was a bit of a power struggle over whether jackets should be brought along, especially when one had a skeleton outfit to show off, and the other just wanted to look pretty. As it turned out, even I was not dressed warmly enough, and for most of the time there, I silently shivered with my desire for a scalding, hot chai, and I nearly wept with relief each time the sun shone past the cotton candy clouds.

Comfort: I've been thinking about it ever since enjoying the Greenwood Elementary Family Movie Night, for which the students had voted Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. Maybe because I saw it so much as a kid and into adulthood, I find that movie to be so comforting and familiar. I imagine Charlie's hair smells like dirty sheets and hard work, but I forgive the little guy, because he was born into a tough situation.

My relationship with God is what provides me the real comfort, particularly on the random, paranoid night when my mindset is not *if* someone breaks in and assaults me, but *when*. I stare down the door just waiting for it, but then I remind myself of many, many verses and promises of God's protection and grace, and I eventually fall asleep. The comforts I'm describing here are the purely human ones; chai with an extra shot of espresso....being holed up in the house during a snowstorm with all family members accounted for, and the kitchen stocked with food...spending time with long time friends who really, really 'get' me...

Right now Skip is super uncomfortable, and I suspect he is looking forward to our New Orleans rendezvous perhaps even more than I am. For now I send him travel magazines, candy corn with peanuts, dark chocolate, (though he says he doesn't want unhealthy stuff) fallen leaves from our front tree, drawings the kids have done, photos...And I am most looking forward to the comfort of sitting across from him in a couple weeks, drinking chicory coffee and mildly choking on the powdered sugar dust of the beignets at Cafe Du Monde.

     In the meantime, however, I'll just have to check this guy out from the library.

                                      Oh, Mr. Wilder. You were a genius.

I would love to hear what creature comforts are to you? Don't censor yourself either. I won't shy away from telling you that I know I've had a really deep sleep if, and only if, upon awaking my hands are bent and curled backwards and awkwardly around my hipbones. I really should ask Mom if that was an infant position.