News from KY

I'm young at this, so I'll pick it up as I go. Sharon, thanks for the invite. I sincerely hope you post often.

To start: You didn't finish the Dylan story (as it pertains to rejection). After he said "I don't believe you," he turned to the band and said "play it ******* loud." He not only played exactly what he wanted, but he did it more insistently.

Second, O'Brien is genius. True, he may be burning out in his present job, but as far as natural quick humor, he has few peers. And his hair: it speaks for itself.

Third, Emily is amazing. When she first came to visit, the kids were mauling her and I asked Wife during the distraction if she could remember if she and Emily had met. Wife said "Are you kidding? I'd remember meeting someone that beautiful." True. We had such a good time. The babies loved her unreserved and immediate. Wife and I loved her too, which is why we made her take the frog out of her purse and clamp it between her gums while we snapped degrading photos--I'll share them as soon as I get them off the camera. Then we pulled the old sleep deprivation (to illustrate our affection), allowing a hair under two hours' sleep in a muggy tent in our living room. And finally, at dawn's crack, we unceremoniously booted her out the door, stumbling and bleary-eyed, without breakfast or shower, and bid farewell forever. On the whole, it was grand.

The pictures:

As most children do, Emilia, Claire, and Joshua (with respect to their positioning on this page) thrill when exploring the outdoor world. We try to get them out as often as possible, letting them see and feel and smell. Their eagerness to experience the world makes new the familiar for me. It also points, a little ominously, toward the lessons down the road.

I was looking at these pictures of them in this field behind our apartment. Spotting the grass are thousands of dandelions in various stages of growth. I pop the tops off for the kids and they scream whoop. Inevitably, they search out the dandelions that are gone to seed, the translucent pappus with parachute stalks too tempting to resist. They pick them and blow them and watch the wind float the attendant flotsam till the sun disappears it all. Where they land is unseen, yet of course they do land somewhere, and soon the taproot tendrils the soil.

The whole of it is this, the dread fear of every parent--when mine are grown and gone, where will they land? For atmospheric currents are not too remote from those of life, they are complex and ever changing. Ending up where you want requires starting out right.

To God: Let me learn the winds. So that when I let go. . . .