I am learning some of the most profound lessons from my son (age 7).
This morning I tried on an outfit for work, I looked at our massive full length mirror,
A: What does this look like?
B: It looks like you.
A: Do you think it is too much for work.
B: Yes and it is beautiful.
Today, off I go to work wearing my office coat with pure cotton, bright, block prints pants especially brought by Visha. Visha who says, “I found myself in the gaps between the written word and the unexpressed” – I am lucky to have found her there while poking around for wood-worm.
What are you working on these days? I am trying to memorize the seven steps to nothing. I have pieces of my heart wandering around – one bit in the south-east towards the sea, the other on an island, another in the mainland, another sitting at home playing on his iPad. Some day I won’t have tides on my forehead looking for the message in the bottle, “Tell me you are safe.” Till such time it is turning out to be quite challenging to note that really there is no manual to life, and there is no one path to the right (anyway I tend to be way left) (that was my attempt to divert towards humor – that I have learnt is a mechanism) (and that I over-analyze) (but I work in research). End of post.
This is a book of fairytales, yes, the real kind! I picked it up at the book fair this year judging by it’s beautiful hardback cover. Yes, I am guilty! Anyway, apparently the author Susanna Clarke is quite famous from having written another series of such tales, but I must confess I had never heard of her. So the book has short stories set in strange and mysterious villages, where women weave magic or are woven into it, from time to time. As another reviewer on Goodreads puts it better “She is so good at making a whole world out of hints and references. Notice that she never has to get out of character and explain anything to the reader, she is always able to make the dialogue and the situations do the work for her, letting the action of her scenes reveal everything. This not only creates a strong…
So I asked Bambi can you speak about the things you say to me, and he said:
B: “I want to play with the iPad.”
A: What about the time you said, “Your food tastes like dirty sock”
B: “Well, we are going to talk about the nice things.” B: “I want to go to sleep higher than 7:30p.m.” B: “Remove ALL the vegetables from my food.”
B: “Nope, strike those out because those aren’t nice things. And the top one too.”
[Aside: This was followed by some crying and grumbling because we needed to focus to have this conversation.]
A: “What’s wrong Bambi?”
B: “I like having playdates”
A: “I asked you why are you crying?”
B: “Because you said close the iPad”
B: “No, no don’t write that, strike it out NOW”
A: “I am asking what are things Bambi says?”
B: “GIMME MY ALPRO SOYA *do it in a nice way ~ don’t write it in a rude way*”
B: “Can I please play Mario Party Nine?”
A: “Do you say it that nicely?”
B: “But just write it in a nice way.”
B: *big sigh* this is hard work maybe I shouldn’t do this.
So after I read out to him what I have written:
B: funny, giggling me, now can I go back to playing with the iPad.
Currently having a dodgy relationship with my old faithful Canon PowerShot G11 after it failed to deliver on two important occasions. Today we took a walk towards Ouderkerk so that I could renew my faith. I am still skeptical, cynical. Let’s see how things go.
Blackened embers still burning now and then
A white moon smudged
I built my castle on reclaimed land
Dug the wet sand till its grains hurt
between skin and nail
Swept away the sea
Pushed back the tidal waves of full moon
the basalt gray
Call me sturdy
“Is it summer yet?”
“I think so.”
“How would you know?”
“Well it is that time of the year.”
“What if you did not have a calendar?”
“It is warm, the sky is clear, the ducks are having ducklings, the flowers are out, and the trees have leaves.”
“That’s just a good day.”
“When you have a series of such days then I guess you can safely assume that it is summer.”
“So then summer is a series of such good days.”
“I think so.”
“I wish there was summer in winter but, then I do love the snow and when it is really cold.”
“Any other questions sir?”
“Yes, how many days till winter?”
“How many minutes?”
“Way too many.”
“Give me numbers.”
“How about the number 7.”
The day Carla died
my almost seven year old cried at the hairdresser
not because Carla died, but, because he wanted to
“it is just so unfair”
When we came home
he cried some more.
Refused to shower
claimed he hated showers since the end of time.
Then he said, “Sometimes you don’t take care of me”
I sat down and slowly gave up, “I can’t deal with you anymore!”
He cried some more
through tears and snot
came a whimpering, “Deal with me.”
Later, he ate four slices of bread with peanut butter and jam.