which shut the shiny humming new pooter all the way down and prevented my further documentation of the morning. Which was fine by me and if it was warmer I would still be out on a walkabout splashing through the tree and climbing the creeks or whichever it's all reversible on Mondays. I am happy in storms. This was a gentle one that makes it feel like a holiday, like the other 6 days of the week are all on Pause for this day of deep thunder and drowsy rain.
I wrote for a while near a window some words that are there inside but are very infuriatingly slow in coming and when they do come just won't sit quietly together on paper, like unruly children that refuse to get along. It's not their fault. They don't know any better. Not much comes easy anymore except Mozart, and that only on shiny days.
Then I ate a sandwich with tuna in it and while I was eating it I thought, why am I eating this sandwich with tuna in it because I really don't like tuna but somehow I get these foreign cravings to eat it sometimes and every time I wonder, I wonder.
Then I sat on the floor and played Sorry! with the 12 year old, Kayla, and Kayla. Yes there are two now. Kayla #2 is a second cousin on spring break from St. Louis and she calls me Chris Stain Uh. She's the meanest Sorry! player you ever did see and she's got the most natural yall. But don't let it fool you. She's city through and through.
And then I contemplated going outside and then I thought not until it's 70 degrees again you won't. And then I wondered who wants to read this, anyway. And then I virtually hugged everyone who said me.
Now we're going to make cupcakes.
Laughter rings in this house. laughter is us. Only when there is silence would you know something is unwell.
The 12 year old is 13 now since his birthday on the 4th. Or 5th. I just remembered. There have always been too many of us to keep track.