Last week, Ian participated in his first school Christmas concert. He was on stage, in front of hundreds of people, with a bell in his hand. I had a video camera, and a front-row seat. Ian’s teacher had asked her students to stay calm, and in one place. But you can’t tell Ian that, and […]
cats will fight their own reflections; you talk to a linda ronstadt cassette.
‘There was a little girl’ By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow There was a little girl, Who had a little curl, Right in the middle of her forehead. When she was good, She was very good indeed, But when she was bad she was horrid.
Dearest Son: Some whys, I can handle. I can explain why the trees are coated in ice, why this soap won’t hurt your eyes. Why the moon is full, and what ‘full’ means. Why you should look at the person talking to you. Why you should never, ever use that tone of voice with your […]
I knew I was too late the moment my hand touched the remote. I recognized the warning signs, yet moved too slowly. The tinkling of a slightly flat piano. A young square-jawed professional sprinting across an office block. The feeling of insecurity in my wardrobe. We were snuggled on the couch, safe from the hordes […]
Cars will be overturned. / And upon his back / shall ride, / to his conquests, / my Lord, / you!
Ian is sitting on my knees, galloping like Clint Eastwood. Between laughs, he’s trying to say the horsey-riding rhyme my father used with me: ‘Horsey, horsey carry me over the land and through the sea, … and if I die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. Amen!’
I don’t know if he fell asleep. He certainly had a dazed and unfocused look about him as he picked himself off the floor.
Last night, Ian and I were huddled next to a space-heater on the living room floor. We were playing with a toy from a future where police officers and firefighters have overcome their differences, and share a rescue station designed by IKEA. And the police fly Kingcobras. Then, in the middle of a fire/drug bust, […]
Pretty joy! / Sweet joy, but two days old.