A Day in the Life of an Almost Two Year Old Ancient

  
I wake up this morning to little Clarence prying my eyes open with his little fingers saying, “Dream Kees.” 

I open my eyes to the scent of his sweet breath and face inches away from mine drawing out the words slower and clearer, “Dreeeaaaam Keeeeeees”

“Oh, wow, you had a dream about Kees? That’s amazing. I’ll let him know.

“You know the word ‘dream?, Dreeeaaaam?'”I ask amused at how much he comprehends. 

He stares directly into my eyes silently then says calmly, “cookie.”

We go to work than ran tedious errands and come to that part of the day that compares to the eye of the storm. 

-Cherub cheeks, soft pout, wispy lashes, gentle breath- 

And then he opens his eyes. Ever get a chance to witness a child awaken from sleep? It’s like all the answers you’ve sought since the conception of thought is answered in one moment and I’m sure if I find myself conscious in my death bed in the far far future one day, I will be able to hold that moment as if it were infinite, but not today. The angel face screams out “macron!” He wants that favorite sweet chewy marshmallowy French cookie and begins rampaging the house taking his clothes off screaming “different shirt! Different clothes!” The sweetness draining out of him. 

“talk daddy! Talk daddy!” And I appease him with a call. 

He eats sticky rice and seaweed and slowly balances out again. His wit returns. 

I give him iced water and he looks amused. 

“not hot. Water not hot.”

“It’s cold water.”

“Cold water, very cold.” He says delighted at the realization. 

And he amuses himself house after house after house as I make my rounds around town teaching piano until we make our way to the last two driving through PCH at dusk with the sky bleeding warm and cool with stretches of white. 

“Ooooh orange. Oooooh blue. Ooooh airplane.” He marvels at the world and I play along.

“Look Clancy, bird! Oohs boats and trees and ocean.”

“Ochun, dark, moon ” as the scenery changes right before our eyes 

“Magic hour” I finish. 

“Magic” he repeats and closes his eyes. 

     We have two stops left before we get to head home and the day moves to night in seconds the sun sinks into the horizon for safekeeping. Clary wakes up as soon as we get to the next house and he occupies this exchange on the play cook set bringing me plastic fruits and vegetables to eat while I teach piano. He adjusts house to house like a gypsy child, bartering my time for their toys. And he doesn’t mind it. 

    He came home and whispered “bed, warm, cuddle.” We jumped into bed and laughed as giggled with daddy home. We recap the day and color together. He directs me, “draw car! Draw, color, brush teeth, night, dark, trains, mommy, story, daddy,story, mommy, come here, come here, lay down, down, down……

He yawns and says, “mommy. Tired, I’m tired mommy tired? Ahhhhhhh” he yawns again with heavy eyes half mumbling, half sleeping repeating “mummy, color, mummm mm mmmm ommmm.

  

The Red Door

  
The Red Door

The very first time I saw this door with its stained glass windows, I wanted to call this place home. 

At the time it was painted a tacky beige, but the potential was evident. 

We rode our bikes and parked it in front of the house with the moonlight creating a luminescent silhouette of the wall covered in vines of morning glories and a locked door to the backyard. 

We trespassed and hung out in an empty backyard with green grass and red wood chip mulch. 

Now it’s home. It looks lived in with a garden, some chickens, and evidence of a family with kids. 

Toys scattering couches and tabletops,

Music blaring out of our dining room turned to studio,

And the painted red door, inviting and warm, promising love and happiness on the other side. 

Coffee Table

  
I never said my life was clean and pretty,

Actually it’s a pretty little clutter of everything i love ,

And it might drive a neat person mad,

Ask my Momma, she’ll tell you. 

Though I admire those who have pretty well thought out coffee tables,

I also wonder, 

“Where would my little feet go?”

When Worlds Collide

  

I am mother 

I am musician

I am artist

I am writer 

I am yogini

I am teacher 

I am student

I am mother 

I am daughter 

I am sister

I am woman

I am goddess

I am priestess 

I am servant

I am talented

I am scared

I am mediocre 

I am love  

I am sad 

I am frustrated

I am elated 

I am patient

I am everything 

And not just one thing 

Yet I am one. 

And yes I really did try to play with my toes. 

Scars

  
Happy birthday Debbie!

You know I’ve been talking to you a lot lately. Most of the times I miss you but sometimes I’m still mad. 

I know when people pass, everyone remembers all the good things and how sweet and great a person was,

But you know me, and I know you and we would have been like “blah”. 

Even with morning breath, you’d roll on top of me, slip a spliff in my mouth and say “smoke this bitch” all before I opened my eyes. And then we’d go somewhere like Vegas with a total of $7 dollars in change between the two of us on a whim that we could win and be rich and retire young. 

And I could be annoyed at you and you could be annoyed at me, and we’d still hang out all day, call each other and end up laughing all night. 

That’s what I miss most. That realness you know? 

So this Christmas when I found myself missing you the most, I stayed mad at you because if anyone in this world understood that, it would be you, and you’d be laughing at me about it and i would tell you it’s because I loved you anyway. 

Well I love you anyway, and the missing you part doesn’t ever change and it still hurts sometimes so I’ll stay mad sometimes. 

Ps remember when you told me years before anything happened that you were dying and I responded “we are all dying a little each day since the day we were born,” sorry I was an a$$hole too. @Debbie somewhere in paradise.