quiet, thankful breath.

It seems time to notice.

Some of my favorite things of late. . .

. . .

Django describing garbonzo beans (or rebonzo, as he calls them): "Bald, with mashed potatoes inside."

He also called me "yummy."

. . .

Lilley counts to 20 in French.

We are eagerly anticipating le dindon on Thanksgiving.

. . .

The smalls and I recently watched the original Star Wars Trilogy together. There is really no describing what it is like to watch children watch these movies for the first time. Big eyeballs.

After the first one, Lilley told me she had a new favorite movie, with the caveat that Snow White is still her favorite Disney movie. I was just happy that Princess Leia could compete for my daughter's affections.

I wish I had recorded the conversations we had after watching these movies. The smalls were not just entertained. The character of Darth Vader in particular provoked many questions about good and evil.

. . .

Michigan at the beginning of autumn. ArtPrize in the rain. Apple cider wedding by the lake. And time to be near.

. . .

In the car this morning.

Lilley: "Django, when we get to the movie theater, would you like to sit in my lap?"

Django: (pauses, considering the question) "No. But I love you anyway."

. . .

Lilley: "I have that feeling again. The one where I just need love."

If we could all ask so openly.

day after day.

Yesterday, after the smalls left for the weekend, I excavated the apartment. It is strange to me how many odd little things accumulate in my life that are somewhere between trash and treasure. I usually err on the side of trash, and only rarely regret that position.

My books have arrived. With the trash at the curb, floors and sinks scrubbed, dishes washed, and dinner cooked, I finally felt free to begin this semester's work. So last night I settled onto my green couch, pen in hand, and began to do what it is I do. And what I have come to discover I truly love to do.

. . .

I have been waiting for something intangible and necessary. It is something akin to the feeling I get when listening to a musician who knows how to hold a song in suspense and for just how long. The listener waits - in a kind of merciful grip - knowing exactly what comes next, but unable to choose the precise moment it will break. (If you have heard Animal Collective's My Girls, you might know exactly.)

So it just seemed right when I woke this morning to rain.

Rain never seems ordinary to me. It is the same with the seasons and the sky. I never tire of listening to these things.

Day after day they pour forth speech.

meet me under the moon.

The fall semester has just begun, but I have not yet asked myself to believe it. My books are on order and will arrive soon in several packages. Paper monuments to all my mind will need to wrap itself around in the next three months.

I am happy to be here again - on the day before September and what seems to be a long autumn's eve. Summer has not left its final mark on the year, but cooling temperatures are flagrantly arousing me to hope.

. . .

It is 895 miles from here to there. Six states and the slow curve of Lake Erie.

A thousand times and more I will close the distance in a breath. And for today, that is enough.

shooting star reprise.

Some days land like a rock. Sunday was like that for me - full force thump, smack dab in the middle of my chest. Things are changing, and my fixed feet are not making nice. I cannot seem to get my mind around all the little things that sometimes add up to big.

I spent the last hour of work on Sunday sucking up tears and trying to make my co-workers think I am normal.

But Sunday also offered a theme I have loved fiercely. Strange, silent night and a blazing star.

. . .

The sky is big tonight. Cirrocumulus clouds and all the lights behind.

I watch the sky - this vast, giving blue. I watch it like a crazy lover.

I call the smalls to the windows in all kinds of weather. The other evening it was a shiny thunderstorm - slanting rain no sooner come then gone into a humid, yellow mist.

I think they see it, too, because on Sunday Django called the moon, "Luny." And the afternoon's cry clamored for a better space.

. . .

On Tuesday we were awake by 6 and in the park by 7. Blanket spread and breakfast wrapped in tinfoil. The playground ours alone for an hour at least.

It was a hot morning. We have had so many already, but still I am surprised by how quickly this summer has sped to the edge of August.

Maybe I am always surprised. And maybe surprise is the hidden forgiveness for not always keeping my head up. Like a shooting star on the worst day of July - cast into the middle of this lover's quarrel.

dinner and dessert.

The smalls and I have been tasting the fruits of this season. It is hot, but dinner is so so good.

These days are kind. I am exhausted and happy.

green.

Green is my favorite. And today was green. Something about a spring-cloudy sky making new grass, young leaves appear a crazy yellow-green. . .

Contrast. Juxtaposition.

. . .

In a few days I will finish my first year of graduate school. My mind is a little muddled right now. Sometimes it seems I am clinging to the edges of everything. Sometimes I feel like fire.

. . .

Maybe I am always looking for things to pull me up or hold me down. Grounded but really really awake.

Wanting enough to ask.

would you look at the pollen?

Spring is here. I guess it has been here for a few weeks, but I have really begun to notice it in the past few days. Suddenly I seem to be peering through a thick yellow haze. Tiny pollen particles dust every surface. Even the rain seems to be in cahoots with this stuff - not washing it away, but simply turning it into a mustardy mud.

While pollen does not bother me a bit, it does more than bother Lilley. After having skin tests done on her last fall, the allergist told me she had one of the worst reactions he has ever seen to oak pollen. If she is outside for even a few minutes her eyes turn red and she starts clawing at them. Last spring, we first discovered this allergy when her eyes became so swollen it looked like she had been in a fistfight.

So we have to be creative. While most people are running around outside enjoying the beautiful weather, I have to choose between the torture of keeping Lilley inside or the torture of taking her out. I have thought about getting her a face mask and a pair of goggles to wear outside. She would look a little bizarre, but she at least she might be able to play in the grass.

For now I am sticking with indoor creativity versus trauma to her young self-esteem. A few days ago we spent the morning at the Science Center. We ran around, did puzzles, flew airplanes, played on computers, and I even got to protect Lilley and Django from the dinosaur (which I do not think they accept is not actually real).

While crossing a bridge that runs over the highway construction sight, Lilley stepped onto a thick, plexiglass window. Django did not understand that she was safe, and it was precious beyond description to watch his 2 1/2-year old self try to protect his sister from the peril of falling through the hole in the bridge.

By the time we were on our way back over the bridge to go home, Django had grown to trust the plexiglass window. We stepped onto it together, and looked at the yellow world below.