Currently The Hound of the Baskervilles By Sir Arthur Conan Doyle see related

My favorite coffee mug broke today. The one with the pencil drawing of Emily Dickinson crammed into a box, claustrophobicly alone.  A quote was on the other side of the mug.  "When I read a book and it makes me so cold no fire could ever warm me, I know that is poetry."   I bought it at Barnes & Noble, back in my bookstore coffee '90's.

I don't want to say goodbye to the girl who bought that mug, but her stuff is gradually disappearing.  The evidence to prove she once existed  is getting harder to find, buried by the tokens and equipment of motherhood.    Broken mugs, misplaced journals, (it's embarrassing to misplace something that should be so important), clothing in odd colors, forgotten promises to one's self. 

That mug had a great handle, too, the kind all four fingers fit through at once, and they all feel like they should be there...not like little tea cups that, even though the fourth finger fits, it gets a little imprint on the side where it mashed against the handle too long. 

Yesterday a wave of melancholy hit me like a rushing migraine.  (i've never had one, but i hear they come on fast and hard).  I was cutting coupons and turned a page to find an ad for Huggies.  The ad very quickly was drowning in a pool of my tears as I suddenly wished for a child in my womb.  A Huggies ad . . . not even a good one.   What a random thing, like a hit in the back of the head by a baseball bat . . .when there was no one in the room only seconds ago.  Like most of the murder scenes on Matlock.  Depression often causes excessive viewing of Matlock, especially during early morning hours.  With Diet Coke.  Even though you swore to yourself that you'd never drink it again.  I wish it was 2am and I had an episode of Matlock to go with the Diet Coke I'm drinking.

My friend has gone.  Thinking of her makes her even further away, because, right now, I need someone to sit with.  I need someone to say that I'm only a bit of a lunatic but not hopelessly crazy.

Perhaps I just need to replace the coffee mug, and get on with things.

For my son, i just completed the ebay transaction that i hope to become famous for.  The purchase: 4 trading cards that ethan dreams about.  I know how he feels.  I dreamed about horses from the time i was his age until i became a teenager and boys finally became worth dreaming about.  (I probably should have stuck with the horses) 

Ethan tells me over coffee some mornings, in the before-dawn hour, the dream he just woke up from, how he has the these three cards and he's winning the yu-gi-oh game with them.  His eyes have a glimmer in them.  I know a wish when i see it.   i know he wishes more than anything that he could have those cards.  He's already saved 30 dollars toward the cost of them.  He's never saved that much for anything before. 

I'm trembling.  The last seconds of the auctions were heated, and i am thankful for the anonimity of ebay, or those card playing geeks that i outbid might come looking for me.  There were at least 4 bids placed in the last 40 seconds of the auction.  I am still a bit shocked that i won.

I never thought i'd be able to make his little dream come true.  Most auctions for these cards end at no less than $50, but i got them, plus an extra card, for $33.  I hope i can save them, save this secret, until his birthday at the end of the month.

How could i be so lucky?  In one day, i have made a little boy's dream a reality and got a good deal doing it.

Currently Church Music By David Crowder Band see related

Why do they grow up so fast?

Currently The Heat By Needtobreathe see related

Andrew, my budding artist, truly has all the traits of  good one.   His melancholy hands had wadded up three started works-all failed apple trees-and his sad face showed his disappointment in himself.

I sat with him and encouraged him to make an imperfect tree.  He did.  It was a beautiful tree with 7 apples, round and red, each with its own brown stem.  He finished the tree and was pleased, so he decided to cut it out.  (At age 6, everything good gets cut out.)

The tree was very detailed, and as he looked over it with scissors ready, he paused and said, "This is going to be really hard."  He sighed, set his shoulders, and said to himself, 

                                           " One chop at a time..."