The best coffee, the best friends

 No, I had never used a frother, and been offered the use of the car, and

Been accompanied on a custom bike to experience the green, dense forests 

on the way to White Pond, 

No, I don't recall feeling so cared for and so pampered,

My taste buds rejoiced when savoring the simple meal we shared.  

Yes to Paul and Rebecca, yes to Amaya, we will see each other again!

You are all so beloved, my heart is so full of joy. 

Warm in your little Concord home, so cozy, with the fancy

"Authentic polyester" throws on the couch and chair, the balcony

Looking out onto towering fir trees, 

The beautiful flowers on the table greet me this morning, even

More special that they were for Paul for his 15 years teaching.

And I smile when I spot the intricate spiderweb woven  under the 

Small stool, no doubt the small resident feels the same. 

On the road again

Maybe I only think that I like to be home,

A self-described home-body, my friends scoff in disbelief

Since I flit from place to place, Japan in April, a week in 

Santa Monica, and how gazing out at the plane which will fly

Me to Massachusettts, vertigo be damned.

A chat on the bus with a Chinese scholar, another,

A Mexican father with his children, as we wait for the gate

To open, why not watch the last half of The Matrix

And what a thrill to see my friend waiting for me at Logan,

Some 42 years after we met on an Amtrak train.  

Why not travel all the time, actions do speak louder

Than words.

On the road again.

 

The last morning together

She never smiles for the camera but I caught her in that last moment

Of being together, in a cozy bed, under a cozy comforter, with her Mimi.

That's me.

And the little one to the side, a moment before he started trying to lie on top of her,

We were all so peaceful, smiling, happy, in those moments before I had to say good-bye

For now.

Why does my heart ache so when I have to say good-bye, knowing that I'll see them

Again under sunny Colorado skies, so soon, even,

But that moment when she smiled, he clutched his new robot toy, the

Moment before they started squabbling over contested purses, 

His with two colors, but smaller, hers, bigger but missing the seahorse

Which she had placed in her new Fanny pack.  

She smiled and so did I, my heart prematurely aching for the many

Miles soon to be between us. 

 

And then there were two

There were two, after all, big sister with crocheted purse

And a little brother, who was usually in the shadow of his big sister.

We heard him, though, his small voice filling the empty spaces

With reverberations of protest and demands, the compelling voice

Of a three year old.

There were two, after all, a second smaller crocheted purse, in 

Two colors, the masterpiece of a beginning artist

Trained at the knees of the Master 

There were two, after all, two plastic bunnies fought over

By two siblings, there were two, after all, two parents who

Raise their eyebrows in disbelief at their good fortune,

The endless challenges of two, there are two, after all,

Two sides to every story.  

 

Crocheting for Barbie

She wanted me to crochet her a sweater in multiple-colored yarn 

But we settled on beach outfit for Barbie, multi-colored with contrasting bows

Using yarn for beginners, the single strands for the clumsiest fingers.

She wanted to learn, struggling to hold the right yarn tension between pointer

And thumb, her hands unsure how, I assured her that it took me many many

Many hours to master, so we settled on threading the yarn around the crochet hook

As my more experienced fingers held the yarn for her.

Each successful stitch resulted in the broadest smile, the greatest accomplishment

Ever for the both of us, this lazy afternoon after kindergarten, before the 

Demands of washing hands and eating dinner.

Deliriously delightful. 

 

Six year olds on the move - leaving the old behind

We had half a block of convo, as she calls it,

The dreamy comings and goings of free-form ideas punctuated

By the excitement of a newly discovered blossom, a roly-poly

Spotted next to the crack on the sidewalk.

Eliza called out to us, and the spell was broken,

The roly-poly tossed aside, the scooter abruptly rotated

Some ninety degrees and my lovely companion was gone,

The sweet moment replaced by the shouting of a couple six year girls

Now jogging, scooting, discussing the book fair, yet again

Interrupted by Caroline, who has now appeared at the corner,

The parents tossed aside like old news, the three shuffling

And scooting and talking on top of each other, about 

Everything and nothing, the convo of the young who no

Longer need the old.  

 

Who loves shopping more?

I'm not sure who is the kid who loves to shop.

Is it the big kid who hoists the little kid up to survey the possibilities,

As she clutches her shiny pink wallet with the matching fuzzy pompon ball

Dangling below.

It's not clear who is loving the careful selection process, the counting of money,

The need for a bit more than what is available from the cookie sale.

it's not clear whether the bigger kid will pull out his wallet and add funds

Or whether he will hold firm on budget

But as I listen from the adjacent aisle, my confidence in his willpower is rapidly dwindling

As the case is made for a tiny bit more money to buy that Barbie,

The one with the impossibly high red heels on feet that could never work in real life.

Purchases made, I join them at the exit, (perhaps not) surprised to see that the little girl

Has a Barbie in her arms, and more money in her wallet than before arrival.

The big kid that hoisted her to survey the goods could not hold the line,

This is no surprise to me, being married to this big kid with the huge heart,

Who can never say no to a little six year old girl who climbs 

In his arms and says, "please....."