Growing Versions

The fourth post I wrote on this blog was called  Artifactual Communication .  It came to me one day a couple of days after I started the blog when I overhead my husband listening to a talk about it on the internet.  It started to turn some gears in my mind and I can still remember the rush of endorphins that coarsed through me as I turned an out of context, random idea into something personal.  I knew little about artifactual communication, still don't, but the general concept struck a chord as I began my journey paying closer attention to my surroundings. Since then, that post has been viewed more than any other post I've written.  People in Thailand, Australia, Ukraine, the U.K., Brazil and Indonesia and South Africa have read it and it makes me want to know what they were looking for.  Did they find it in the post? Maybe  or maybe not, but somehow, in a tenuous way, we connected, however briefly. Life got exceedingly hectic in the inte...

“We die containing a richness of lovers and tribes, tastes we have swallowed, bodies we have plunged into and swum up as if rivers of wisdom, characters we have climbed into as if trees, fears we have hidden in as if caves.  I wish for all this to be marked on by body when I am dead. I believe in such cartography - to be marked by nature, not just to label ourselves on a map like the names of rich men and women on buildings. We are communal histories, communal books. We are not owned or monogamous in our taste or experience.” -Michael O ndaatje, The E nglish Patie nt

On the weekend, we visited our beloved cat Cleo`s grave. She's buried on a beautiful hill overlooking the ocean.  Initially, when she died, we feared our kids` reactions, but both of them have taken it in stride. The season has changed and new cats have made their mark(s).It is only now, months later, that the questions and the wondering has begun. My daughter urged us to read the book  Island Boy .  When we finally read it this weekend, I learned that it is essentially a fairly linear story about a boy who grew into a man and lived more or less his whole life on an island.  He travelled on the schooners up and down the eastern seaboard, but he always returned home to his island.  The book ends with his death where he was buried under a beautiful apple tree. I was curious to know why my daughter liked the book so much.  She proceeded to explain how even though he is dead he remains on the island and that is somehow important in her mind. Afte...

There are sce nts i n this world that bri ng me back to somewhere, places where I ca n not go.  I smell that smell a nd get a hit of some time before that will  not come agai n.  For me, lilac sce nt se nds me o n a be nder .  Upo n sight,  I begi n to remember what they smell like.  However, it is the smelli ng of them directly, which I ca n o nly  really bri ng myself to do  a doze n times a year (3 times so far this year), that fills me with such a mix of regret a nd pla n maki ng u nique to them a nd me  that I ca n barely sta nd to look at them.  I have bee n avoidi ng them, I see them across the street a nd a ki nd of lo ngi ng takes over. I remember a spri ng. I remember my gra ndmother's garde n a nd a freedom that I have  not really felt si nce. I remember glass upo n glass filled with lilacs, sce nti ng every room a nd shapi ng  pla ns I made. What sce nt makes you remember a place?  Does it eve n hav...

3 year old version: 1. Is it a dog? 2. Is it a skunk? 3. Is it a strawberry? 4. I know! Is it a strawberry? It IS a strawberry, isn't it? 5.Um okay, is it a tree? 6. Is it a toy? 7. Is it...okay give me a clue. I am hungry, I need a snack. 7 year old version: Kid: Okay you have to guess. Parent : Is it an animal? Kid:  No Parent: Is it a vegetable? Kid: No Parent: Is it a mineral? Kid: Yes!! Parent: Is it machine made? Kid: ugh ugh sometimes... Parent: Is it small enough to fit in your pocket? Kid: well yes, but you really shouldn't put it there. Parent: Is it hard? Kid: No Parent: Is it squishy? Kid: No Parent: Is it soft? Kid: Yes, sometimes. Parent: Is it edible? Kid: Yes, okay let me give you a clue...you can eat it on french fries... Parent: You mean it is a vegetable? Kid: No!!! It is a mineral! Parent: Oooooooh, I think I know...

               When I examine myself and my methods of thought, I come to the conclusion that the gift of fantasy has meant more to me than any talent for abstract, positive thi n king.-Albert Einstein  

As I alluded to the other day, I went on a fantastic weekend away with the kids and our friends and their kids.  We ate and drank and hiked and played.  We went whale watching and saw fin whales huffing and puffing to the surface multiple times. We saw seals and chickens and sheep and fish. The kids stayed up late with their friends and watched movies in bed together.  They made up games and played board and card games and had a car washing competition. After all that, we capped off our last day with a trip to a beach to watch the sunset over Maine (we later found out) and the kids scrabbled over rocks while we sipped wine. Perfect. Before the sun set, our daughter, in her rock climbing mode, discovered an "antique".  It is an oddly shaped machine made metal object.  It looks old because it is rusted and also because parts these days aren't usually made with metal.  We're stumped.  We do not know what it is but it is precious to her. She believes ...