The snow falls on Seattle, again. Hopefully, this will be just a temporary light dusting and not a repeat of last month. That’s about 12 inches in the back yard, nearly burying my (mostly dormant) raised beds. Although, maybe a three month snow cover in the back yard would be a blessing, since I wouldn’t be able to see just how traumatized the non-deciduous plants are. I try not to look, since I won’t know until spring if all the shriveled leaves mean the plants won’t survive this experience. Still, Caitlyn likes the stuff, and it’s very pretty freshly fallen. …
Maybe I’ll have an comment about this later. But for now, it seems important enough to post. Focus the “save the world” energy toward women and girls and massively increase the impact and effect of the effort. Odd that this bit of information is still news.
Caitlyn goes racing down the hall, into the office, zig-zagging around where I’m folding laundry. “What are you doing?” I’m a bit suspicious. It’s the tail-end of the day and she’s probably moving her toys into the office where I’ll trip over them or something. “Running!” And she runs back toward her room. It’s not a long hall, so the complete circuit requires less than one minute. “Why?” Every parent’s question. “Because I’m crazy!” Saying it seems to have pointed out the truth in her actions. She stops running and returns to her room, where she begins having conversations with …
“Santa comes down the chimney?” “That’s what they say.” “So, how does he go up?” “Well, he lays a finger aside his nose,” I say, demonstrating, “and he goes up.” “He has to climb back up the chimney.” “No. He puts his finger by his nose and just goes up.” This is met with a look that’s part confusion, part my-mother-has-lost-her-mind. “Santa’s magic.” A pause. “So,” like she’s caught the flaw in my logic and is about to pounce like a 3.5 year old trial lawyer, “how does he get down off the roof?” Ha! I’ve got you now! Just …
After dinner this evening, Caitlyn announced, “My voice is getting loud because of my imagination. It’s this big,” spreading her arms about shoulder-width. “That big?” said Ian. “Yes. It’s medium sized. And oval shaped. And orange.” “Your imagination is shaped like an orange.” “Yes.” “Is your imagination juicy like an orange?” “Sort of.” “Will your imagination grow as you get bigger? Will it get juicier?” “Yes. It will be really juicy when I’m sixteen.” Oh, honey, you have no idea. Happy Solstice from Seattle, where we have about a foot of snow on the ground and somehow miraculously still have …
Snow! There’s between 4 and 6 inches (by my highly inaccurate and subjective measuring – that is, I looked at it and thought about quilting rulers and came to a conclusion) on the ground already, and it’s still falling. I’m astounded we still have power.