From the kitchen
I hear their breathing,
Stomps and pounces,
A thud.
With pounding hearts
And sweat lined brows,
Daddy and his son
Rolly poly,
Tumble bumble
Across the floor.
"Pillow Fight!"
More laughter,
In big belly bursts
And shrilly thrilly shrieks.
The two
Boys of my heart
Together
Make a sound
I'll never forget.
A pillow fight,
Pure Joy.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Friday, August 7, 2009
Monday, August 3, 2009
Cindy
If you're trapped inside on a really hot day, you've no choice but to sleep on most of your feet.
Kelley
The Lightning & Lyle
We saw Lyle Lovett,
My family and I.
He played by the river
Under a storm-threatened sky.
My grandma, 84,
A birthday flower in her hair, too
Rocked out with his Large Band
As the clouds overhead grew.
With a zoom lens on
And his iphone in tune,
My bro posted it to You Tube
As we sat there and wahoo-ed.
Upon careful exam
And serious debate,
We all concluded it's true:
Lyle's hair is a fake!
"It's a hair piece," said Ben,
"No it's an implant," said Sam,
"I think it looks real," I contested
"But more like an old man's."
He rocked and he wailed
In his suit and cowboy boots,
He sang of his pony
And of his Texas roots.
But before he could finish
The sky caved around,
Lightning and thunder
A collage of color and sound.
We ran for cover
The soundboard was struck,
And this concert was over
The band retreated to their truck.
But I'll hold forever precious the lovely
Spark in my grandma's eye,
From this adventure she'll know as
"The Lightning and Lyle."
We saw Lyle Lovett,
My family and I.
He played by the river
Under a storm-threatened sky.
My grandma, 84,
A birthday flower in her hair, too
Rocked out with his Large Band
As the clouds overhead grew.
With a zoom lens on
And his iphone in tune,
My bro posted it to You Tube
As we sat there and wahoo-ed.
Upon careful exam
And serious debate,
We all concluded it's true:
Lyle's hair is a fake!
"It's a hair piece," said Ben,
"No it's an implant," said Sam,
"I think it looks real," I contested
"But more like an old man's."
He rocked and he wailed
In his suit and cowboy boots,
He sang of his pony
And of his Texas roots.
But before he could finish
The sky caved around,
Lightning and thunder
A collage of color and sound.
We ran for cover
The soundboard was struck,
And this concert was over
The band retreated to their truck.
But I'll hold forever precious the lovely
Spark in my grandma's eye,
From this adventure she'll know as
"The Lightning and Lyle."
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Kelley
Lyle's Boat
Born into Texas farming
Hanging tight to his hat,
The late 60's began
And he left the boot mat.
Riding his pony
Hair shocked in those curls,
In search of the ocean
And a boat for his girl.
Signed on with the big wigs
An MCA Records fan,
Began writing songs and
Flaunted "Cowboy Man,"
Won a Grammy,
The top 10
And soon Best Country Album.
Finding his Large Band
Striking Gold with a movie star,
He packed up and shacked up,
But didn't get far.
Now he's back in Texas,
Made news by a bull,
Still playing his guitar
And shocking mop still full.
Lyle will be here tomorrow
And maybe I'll see
If he's atop his pony
In a boat headed for the sea.
Could be.
Born into Texas farming
Hanging tight to his hat,
The late 60's began
And he left the boot mat.
Riding his pony
Hair shocked in those curls,
In search of the ocean
And a boat for his girl.
Signed on with the big wigs
An MCA Records fan,
Began writing songs and
Flaunted "Cowboy Man,"
Won a Grammy,
The top 10
And soon Best Country Album.
Finding his Large Band
Striking Gold with a movie star,
He packed up and shacked up,
But didn't get far.
Now he's back in Texas,
Made news by a bull,
Still playing his guitar
And shocking mop still full.
Lyle will be here tomorrow
And maybe I'll see
If he's atop his pony
In a boat headed for the sea.
Could be.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Kelley
Just the Two of Us
You kick and you struggle
Scream and yell,
"It's only lunch," I say,
But you're so loud you
can't tell
That I'm trying to feed you
And get it quickly
Done.
Your crazy toddler antics
Are absolutely
No fun.
So I stop in the middle
Need to take a
Breath,
Laugh
Or pinch myself
That I've jumped into this
Mess.
"This time will quickly pass," they say
"You'll soon be sending them to school."
But your avocado face
And grimy food-stained hands
Go nowhere,
Time is where it stands.
You struggle and you kick
You scream and you fuss,
"It's just another lunch," I think
Just the two of us.
You kick and you struggle
Scream and yell,
"It's only lunch," I say,
But you're so loud you
can't tell
That I'm trying to feed you
And get it quickly
Done.
Your crazy toddler antics
Are absolutely
No fun.
So I stop in the middle
Need to take a
Breath,
Laugh
Or pinch myself
That I've jumped into this
Mess.
"This time will quickly pass," they say
"You'll soon be sending them to school."
But your avocado face
And grimy food-stained hands
Go nowhere,
Time is where it stands.
You struggle and you kick
You scream and you fuss,
"It's just another lunch," I think
Just the two of us.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Cindy
This is what a really hot, overly hot, disgustingly hot day in Seattle looks like. It almost has no color.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Kelley
My Hop-Toad
Leather jade,
A sandpaper tongue and
Bone dry belly
Click and crackle
In the summer's heat.
Dreaming of water,
Cool green water.
The blacktop swelters,
Ribbons of heat
Melt into the day.
He needs tall grass,
A Shamrock haven,
We don't have.
Across the street,
A burning barrier,
The creek runs cold.
His daytime playground.
Along the sandy bank
And mossy rocks,
He dodges kids' feet,
Cannonballs on summer's break.
Dreaming of water,
Cool green water.
When the sun goes down
And lurid heat
Rushes up
Colliding with the black night air,
Cold white sheets and a ceiling fan
Erase the sunburn.
I'm dreaming of water,
Cool green water.
And he crosses,
Takes refuge-
Crouched
Under the lush emerald cilantro leaves,
Camouflaged in a
Canopy of basil.
He floats sometimes
Spread-eagle
Down inside the cool abyss,
The wet darkness
Of a watering can.
Asleep now,
I dream
A parched dream.
Lips chapped,
Eyes squinted
A sand-caked body.
Wishing for my own
Watering can
Abyss.
My Hop-Toad and I,
We're dreaming of water,
Cool green water.
Leather jade,
A sandpaper tongue and
Bone dry belly
Click and crackle
In the summer's heat.
Dreaming of water,
Cool green water.
The blacktop swelters,
Ribbons of heat
Melt into the day.
He needs tall grass,
A Shamrock haven,
We don't have.
Across the street,
A burning barrier,
The creek runs cold.
His daytime playground.
Along the sandy bank
And mossy rocks,
He dodges kids' feet,
Cannonballs on summer's break.
Dreaming of water,
Cool green water.
When the sun goes down
And lurid heat
Rushes up
Colliding with the black night air,
Cold white sheets and a ceiling fan
Erase the sunburn.
I'm dreaming of water,
Cool green water.
And he crosses,
Takes refuge-
Crouched
Under the lush emerald cilantro leaves,
Camouflaged in a
Canopy of basil.
He floats sometimes
Spread-eagle
Down inside the cool abyss,
The wet darkness
Of a watering can.
Asleep now,
I dream
A parched dream.
Lips chapped,
Eyes squinted
A sand-caked body.
Wishing for my own
Watering can
Abyss.
My Hop-Toad and I,
We're dreaming of water,
Cool green water.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Monday, July 27, 2009
Kelley
Running on empty
Laughter and morning shouts
Drift up from the kitchen-
My alarm.
I swing legs over,
Plop bare feet onto the cool wood floor,
Slide into Nike's
That look new
But aren't.
In a sleepy fog
I step over the
Cheerio landmines
And banana slime stuck to the floor.
Another breakfast with Daddy.
My own coffee awaits,
A true old friend,
My caffeinated confidente
Comme toujours.
"All aboard and out the door," I say.
We're off,
Me and my pal,
His blond mop of curls
Bouncing along in the BOB,
Our morning run.
Up the slow grade
Into the forest,
My brick-laden running legs
Moan.
They now think laps are
Chasing toy trucks,
Sprinting intervals to catch
A diaper-less toddler.
The track workouts
And daily mileage
Are a distant memory.
But I dream of running.
Legs moving
Fast.
Somewhere.
Anywhere.
For hours again.
A machine on auto,
Turning on and tuning out.
Quick feet, light heart.
But up the straight forest blacktop I go,
Pushing.
My sweaty palm grips the bar
And the pull to the left
Drives me crazy.
I'm thinking:
Gotta fix these wheels,
Gotta run more,
Gotta get up earlier,
Go to bed sooner,
Clean the house, take more naps, eat less sugar, read more,
Cook more, get out more often....
Looking down,
I see where the jolts originate.
Grandfather Frost's good work:
"Step on a crack, break your mother's back"
I'm careful.
They scream across the pavement
In random stretches.
So I jump,
After all-
I am a mother.
Passing mile 3
I see
My buddy asleep,
His curly mop resting on the side of the stroller.
So I turn.
Downhill,
Lead beads of sweat
Drip.
I feel lighter,
Freer,
More than a mom.
The wind picks up,
I don't even see the cracks
As they blur by under the wheels.
Legs flying,
My mind drifts:
To travel Europe by rail with only a journal,
To learn another language or two,
To teach abroad and play the piano.
To write a book and learn to cook
Well.
Someday.
My legs cramp,
The shadows retract
As the temperature climbs the morning ladder.
And I remember,
"Step on a crack..."
Slowing to a walk,
I hear our creek,
The steady applause of its tumbling water
Over age-old rocks.
And I know it's OK.
To this blond mop of curls
Maybe I'm the world,
For now.
I'm just running on empty
And living full.
Laughter and morning shouts
Drift up from the kitchen-
My alarm.
I swing legs over,
Plop bare feet onto the cool wood floor,
Slide into Nike's
That look new
But aren't.
In a sleepy fog
I step over the
Cheerio landmines
And banana slime stuck to the floor.
Another breakfast with Daddy.
My own coffee awaits,
A true old friend,
My caffeinated confidente
Comme toujours.
"All aboard and out the door," I say.
We're off,
Me and my pal,
His blond mop of curls
Bouncing along in the BOB,
Our morning run.
Up the slow grade
Into the forest,
My brick-laden running legs
Moan.
They now think laps are
Chasing toy trucks,
Sprinting intervals to catch
A diaper-less toddler.
The track workouts
And daily mileage
Are a distant memory.
But I dream of running.
Legs moving
Fast.
Somewhere.
Anywhere.
For hours again.
A machine on auto,
Turning on and tuning out.
Quick feet, light heart.
But up the straight forest blacktop I go,
Pushing.
My sweaty palm grips the bar
And the pull to the left
Drives me crazy.
I'm thinking:
Gotta fix these wheels,
Gotta run more,
Gotta get up earlier,
Go to bed sooner,
Clean the house, take more naps, eat less sugar, read more,
Cook more, get out more often....
Looking down,
I see where the jolts originate.
Grandfather Frost's good work:
"Step on a crack, break your mother's back"
I'm careful.
They scream across the pavement
In random stretches.
So I jump,
After all-
I am a mother.
Passing mile 3
I see
My buddy asleep,
His curly mop resting on the side of the stroller.
So I turn.
Downhill,
Lead beads of sweat
Drip.
I feel lighter,
Freer,
More than a mom.
The wind picks up,
I don't even see the cracks
As they blur by under the wheels.
Legs flying,
My mind drifts:
To travel Europe by rail with only a journal,
To learn another language or two,
To teach abroad and play the piano.
To write a book and learn to cook
Well.
Someday.
My legs cramp,
The shadows retract
As the temperature climbs the morning ladder.
And I remember,
"Step on a crack..."
Slowing to a walk,
I hear our creek,
The steady applause of its tumbling water
Over age-old rocks.
And I know it's OK.
To this blond mop of curls
Maybe I'm the world,
For now.
I'm just running on empty
And living full.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Friday, July 24, 2009
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Cindy
In the crazy whirlwind of the last couple weeks, we managed to escape for an afternoon hike to Granite Mountain. This is one of the first glimpses of the pass as you get above the treeline. I had a terrible summer cold, so I called the retreat early. A lovely and hot afternoon all-in-all.
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