casting a wish

It feels like a very hectic, very shaky time to be a human. 

I try not to be distracted by the massive peril that exists beyond the tepid nonproblems.

But if one bad apple spoils the barrel, what can happen with one rotten orange?

The boys take turns zooming past on a tiny bicycle tricked out with super high handlebars and, for special effects, a crushed plastic water bottle between the spokes. 

Could they be like some kind of fierce emissaries of the future?

When the world withdraws its mercy, I know to look for little things:

We are still cutting zinnias in rainbow arrays for the counter.

There are yarn projects and potholder loom loops all over the place.

Audition sheet music and monologues remain taped up by toothbrushes.

Gauze and goose feathers for fly hooks are scattered evidence of new skills.

There is music in every direction.

Life at home is strangely content. 

A shallow reservoir of magnanimity opens when I look at my children.

The boys are big-hearted and brave and so very wise.

Can raising good kids be a public service?

This is me not so much asking a question as casting a wish.

TRAP

Tuck played leading man Ephrain Salas, a kind and loyal firefighter, in the GHHS fall play TRAP by Stephen Gregg.

And he's already preparing an audition for the spring musical, The Wizard of Oz.

It's a joy and a dream come true to see him on stage!

one stop along the way

I can't not say anything.

I wish I could share the written equivalent of a warm cup of soup, a hug in the form of a sentence.

I do not have those words.

I feel like my brain is suddenly made of microplastics. 

It is fascinating (and alarming) to realize what I consider a threat, others call salvation. 

But I keep coming back to the idea that the one thing we must all share is the longing for a better world. Do our definitions of better match? How can guns have more rights than girls?

Andy left the boys a note before he headed to an early meeting yesterday, more an outstretched hand than a pointing finger. A reminder that the only thing we can control is our reaction, and our direction forward.

Today is one stop along the way.

Hank asked if America will still be a thing to be president of when he's older.

We tell the boys that nothing is beyond the reach of conversation.

But where do we even start on the topic, our country set to be "stewarded by a malevolent sociopath who despises empathy and shuns the law." 

Our kids deserve so much more than the mess they've inherited. 

I know that lamentations will not move me forward. I know how to turn around a day gone wrong, by baking or singing or touching grass, by making something or helping someone, by reading books and moving my body.

Hank did the math, and three hundred sixty five times four feels like a lot of days.

Pavlovitz

costumes and candy

plus carving pumpkins and crisp air!