Posts Tagged ‘nights’

Calendar Days

28 October 2011

Dear J-

The problem with going out to eat on a Thursday is that my body has it so pegged as a weekend activity that I woke up this morning fully expecting to turn the alarm back off and sleep in at least a little. Well, there’s that and the extra salt my body didn’t need, which coupled with this weather (it’s reminding us that we live in a desert by the ocean: dry with col nghts and warm, clear days) left me feeling at least a lttle like calliing in sick. It’s hard to imagine that it’s already been four weeks gone since we went on vacation and I feel like nothing has gotten done at work. Eventually I’ll move over to the new job and my responsibilities will shift, but right now there’s a million things to do and a thousand different directions to head all at once: no wonder time has flown.

Tonight, of course, is figgy’s Halloween carnival, someething we’ll probably be able to attend for a few more years, given that we’ll probably stick Calcifer in the same school by this time next year. Last year was the first and I was surprised by the outpouring of creativity by staff and parents; it is no wonder that kids love Halloween, given the attention and care that adults lavish on it. Monday we may meet up with some other kids from preschool to go trick-or-treating throughout the neighborhood; we do run the risk of not having our house ready for junior ghosts and ghouls but unless you’re going to send your kids off by themselves, there’s only so much you can do.

I probably wrestle with the problem of photographing kids more than I should; reactions to the finished product have been pretty uniformly positive when I send them links to flickr or facebook, and most people get over the shock of having me walk around with a big lens. I wonder if less would be more; of course it’s intimidating to have every glance at me with my face hidden behind a camera; would it be better, you think, for me to hold conversations where I’m not completely obscured? Three things to remember for tonight (as though I’m secretly a robot that needs to be reprogrammed): smile, make conversations, don’t hide.



Fever Dream

5 November 2010

Dear J-

figgy runs hot at the best of times, and so the last few warm days (into the 90s for San Diego) have been tough on her; it’s strange to think about summer weather in November, but I suppose it’s no different than any year: last Halloween we worried that the cow costume was too hot. This year the late-season heat has arrived, as it always does, with explosive dryness. Walk outside and you can feel your skin contract in mympathy for the parched earth; for a place that was complaining about the brief rains just weeks ago, no one seems to mind the oppressive heat.

At night we switch between covers on and covers off; figgy thrashes to the point where any blanket smaller than the bed inevitably finds its way down to the ground or the foot of the bed. Even that’s a delicate balance: you need something to keep from taking too great a chill, but not so much that you wake up dehydrated and damp. She sleeps soundly except on nights like these, when the heat combines with her burning core to force her slightly awake, just enough to stay incoherently distraught, inconsolably uncomfortable.

Late nights and false dramas litter the evenings lately; don’t want this, want that, no and yes, now but not later and immediately. It’s as though the heat has burned all our fuses short; four thousand different things suddenly become intolerable simultaneously and individually. So help me,k don’t push me, let’s do this now, and the ever-popular what do you want hit a reflection; we talk past each other, we yell and pout, we can’t seem to get anything done until the switch is thrown and awake becomes asleep, the heat is banked for the night awaiting the inevitbale stoking of blast-furnace burning through our lives.


Life Uncluttered

4 November 2010

Dear J-

At this point we have two weekends left before figgy loses her only-child status exactly two weeks from today* and I’m more or less done with the cleanup: there’s a few more boxes to sort out but on the whole I’ve gotten through/over all the items my parents had me inherit — these are things that were in my room at the time I graduated and expected them to keep, like some sort of time-capsule shrine/testament to my sheer awesomeness. For the most part it’s full of (as I suspected) shiny bits of metal that I collected like a magpie from parking lots and sidewalks, but there’s the unexpected (my mom was into a huge rabbit-collecting theme for me, as that’s my birth year; there are tons of knick-knack paperweights and trinkets associated with rabbits) and gruesome (the hair that I grew long in college I’d shaved off one night in a pique and fifteen years later, there it was wrapped up in a paper towel in the main box of junk).

To be honest I’m sure that I wouldn’t miss any of it if it disappeared tomorrow; theVet despairs that I’m keeping all of it, but that’s not the case at all — it’s sat in boxes for years now, buried at the bottom of the junk closet unused, unexplored, and generally un-missed, but each item resonates inside. There’s a generic hierarchy I’ve followed — all letters and photos are kept, then personalized items, and everything else has found its way into a junk pile or stuff to be passed on to figgy as part of the joy of new toys.

There’s some pangs to watching the treasures of my youth being passed on to the next generation, but not much, as I’ve seen how she treats her toys. Yes, there is the occasional carelessness and there’s no doubt stuff hiding under furniture, at the bottom of toy boxes, and lost on another one of these expeditions we seem to take, but for the most part she’s got places to stash everything, and she knows and remembers them. We are constantly surprised by her sharp eyes; in poring through a catalog of toys she’s taken jealous posession of, she ran across an MP3 player and headphones; upon hearing that it was, as we generically call it, an iPod, she immediately exclaimed that “I have one of those in my room. I put it on and clean the cat stuff.” That’s exactly what I’ve been doing these past evenings, shutting myself away to do battle with the demons of cat pee and then shuffling over and organizing old photos. I therefore have confidence for our country’s future, thanks to our benevolent dictator.


* If you recall, figgy was sitting breech, so she was delivered via C-section; the OB has been gently steering us towards that option again, which has the advantage of schedule precision, but recovery is a much longer process.