Thoughts on Art: Alexandra's Santa and Erika's Horse

I feel like I cheated somehow. I used this new program my husband gave me on my birthday, which I finally installed on Christmas, three months after receiving the software.

The lovely edges and frame were not part of the original work. Of course, the girls could have mounted their coloring on black paper and just ripped the edges or used a gold frame. So maybe I'm over-reacting here in wanting to get this biographically correct, a raw representation of their product right now at age nine and ten.

That's a kind of obsession of mine...wanting to be biographically accurate. The obsession doesn't apply to my own art, poetry or fiction because those genres are not really "all me" or my life. I edit and edit and edit. Sure, there are auto-biographical parts, and you can deconstruct in whatever way you wish. But as we know from studying authors' lives, that's usually a waste of time. Poetry and fiction take on lives of their own.

Art does, too, but I want my children's art to be unedited. They work in first drafts. I want to remember that free-flow of ideas, the way they throw things down and are not afraid to call it art just because the details are missing. Sometimes, it's not their best work because they are tired or are under time constraints. I save only a few of those. But when they really try and have the right energy, that's when we get the best of their youthful minds.

The most interesting children's art says something about their thought process, and even in their first writing, I see extended metaphors and pertinent emotion. The characters in their stories mimic what is in their minds, as do the pictures they draw, paint and color. Not all the pictures they have drawn have been so pleasantly filled with kind men bearing gifts or horses running free in the wind. We learn a lot about children through their art, and it's not always what we want to learn.

I've always believed that expression is the best way to make sure children (and adults, for that matter) rid themselves of demons, celebrate the joy in their souls, explore imaginations, and share themselves with the world. I'm glad they have art and music programs and would like them to have even more. I give them art whenever I can....through projects and visits to museums as time allows. I am hoping time will allow this week, during the break. Maybe tomorrow will be a good day. Today, they want to spend time with their Christmas gifts. I can't blame them.

Art, creative writing and music provide so many skills that ordinary academic classes cannot: they develop coordination, senses of color and sound, vocabulary, math and spacial skills; understanding of both smaller parts and wholeness and how these all fit together. Dedicated art and music teachers are extraordinary people. The girls have had some excellent ones. Too bad these speciality teachers don't get paid enough. And it's even worse how often they are undermined, somehow deemed less equal partners in children's education. This is the plague of "specialty" teachers (and most educators) in general. 'It takes a CREATIVE village.'

I really didn't mean to get so philosophical here. Doing so is the antithesis of the child's mind which is a more concrete reflection of ideas and understanding. So I will shut up now and let their art speak for itself.

Here's me....."shutting up." LOL.

Oh Christmas Vine, Oh Chrismas Vine, How Lovely Are Your Branches

The rule is, there will be no opening of gifts until after we--that is, my husband and I--have had our coffee. Because it's still Christmas Eve morning, we can get away with such formalities. It also gives me time to get the cats and fish fed, the dog put out, the teeth brushed and...you get the picture.

The girls decided this year that they didn't want to put up the six foot, $205.00 Christmas tree. They chose, instead, a thin little tree of five feet, one we have named "The Christmas Vine." We actually DO sing "Oh Christmas Tree" to it, except we replace the word "tree" with "vine."

When I bought the Christmas Vine from Family Dollar for something like $17.50, the girls and I were living in an apartment. I was separated from my first husband. The girls were practically babies, and money was scarce. I had not yet met David, my current husband, and we were in harder times.

But when I took that tree out of the box, fluffed up the branches, added some lights and some homemade ornaments, something happened to that tree. It became ours. It has since grown roots in my heart, and so I've never wanted to get rid of it. It's part of our family history, a history of not much money but of perseverance, appreciation of little joys, and a memorial to the past.

I like that the girls didn't feel the need for the huge tree, that they wanted to hear about our less fortunate times, and that they are growing an understanding of where we are now because of those stories. They know we are not wealthy, but thank God, they have never known hunger. And they always have had a Christmas, usually more than one because of all our separate family celebrations. There is a benefit to being divorced--our children are spoiled at least three times at Christmas!

Not everyone can say this. I look at the wealth we have, the things we have been given so that we may give as well, and I say, WOW. We've come a long way from that little apartment. I've come a long way from living in a dilapidated rooming house back in my college days.

Our Christmas Vine is lovely, and our family is lovelier. May we all be able to turn our memories into trees and plant our gifts beneath them.

What We Did on the Snow Day

...an original poem typed up and emailed on an icy morning while off from school.... Understand how slowly she types and the concentration it requires to get the full effect of these efforts. Erika wrote this completely on the computer, and we edited together.


Snow
by Erika Mooney

Snow is extremely cold.
It can be packed and thrown.
It also could be a snowman.
Snow can cancel school!
Snowflakes are in many shapes and sizes.
Snow, snow, snow, I just love snow.
DO YOU LOVE SNOW????????

...an original piece typed and emailed (an arduous task), Alexandra had worked on this at school. The piece describes our...um...plump cat, Fiona. Thank you to Alexandra's fabulous teachers for bringing out the best in her writing!
My Fat Cat

My cat is huge. Dad just thinks that my cat fat, but she is not fat. So we put her on a diet and she lost two pounds, but she is still fat. My Mom just likes to pick her up and make her run, but she’s still fat. Erika thinks she needs good food, but she's still fat. I think she is cute, and she will be my cat forever even if she’s fat.

The End.
by Alex

Sunday Morning Bliss

Looking forward to escaping the madness of Northern Virginia swoops in pleasure only a few feel. You need to live in a high stress area to understand how very necessary it is to escape regularly, preferably at least once a month. Abandoning the messy house, the homework, the ringing phone, the work that takes place on this PC....if I don't get it, I miss an important part of my Zen.

The kids, the husband, the dog all feel it too, the anticipation of release, the hugs from Grandma and Grandpa, the drop-in family members, the Uncle who has a history of taking in strays (people), the time to work on scrapbook, sewing, reading, the celebration of birthdays and holidays. Something happens when love abounds, when peace is at its best. It begins with a healthy family.

When we go to Grandma and Grandpa's, my eldest often likes to dress up. This is not unusual for her, but what's unusual is her thinking it's a special occasion, which of course, it is, though we do it so often. In the summer, it's bathing suits, but she still prefers skorts to shorts and sandals or shoes to sneakers. Not so with the younger one, who lives in jeans and t-shirts. Getting her to wear shoes is a conversation I reserve only for holidays now. Choose your battles.

But at the moment, preparing is not so automatic. The routine of getting ready fragments with the excitement, and the kids forget they need to do things before we can leave. They must dress, brush their teeth, pack, eat breakfast...all the usual things plus extras.

I hear foot stomping upstairs. I better go check if we expect to get away!

Dragon, Salad Head and Sailing

Erika's Dragon and Alexandra's "Salad Head."

Erika's Dragon took shape en route to home. It's a monster of her own creation, something she said would "be the scariest thing ever." Alexandra said, "You wouldn't want it in your room."

Alexandra's "Salad Head" is made up of fruits

and vegetables. See if you can identify which part is which!

Alexandra has also been doing a bit of painting with me. Here we see her sailboat.

Here is Alexandra's World.

Erika's Elicat is a crossbreed of an Eagle and a cat. It can climb or fly, and it obviously prefers trees.

Diving into Fall

I got this "meme" from Dive over at Small Glass Planet and thought it would make a brilliant backdrop for the pics we took today in the park. It is finally fall here! I would have romped with the dog had it not been for this sinus infection I am fighting (yes....yet another one). But thank you, Dive...I now know what a meme is. It's a thing that's "all about me." Bloggers seem to be fond of them, as do some friends on email, so here goes. (BTW, if you visit Dive, bewares. He's raunchier than I am, AND he's British, which makes him automatically more talented at raunch.)

Hi, my name is Katherine Mercurio Gotthardt

Never in my life have I eaten tripe, sheep's eyes or tongue.

Never in my life have I been to any place outside of North America. Nor have I ever been to a vampire club. I always thought that would be an interesting kind of place to visit.

When I am nervous I say stupid things, stumble over my words, or crawl inside my head like a snail ducking for cover. Of course, sometimes I say stupid things when I am NOT nervous. And I often lose my words as well.

The last song I listened to was the theme from Scooby Doo.

If I were to get married right now, it would be to my husband. But we are already married. So I'm good.

My hair needs a coloring and maybe even a perm.

When I was four, I was younger than I am now. I was also smarter.

Last Christmas was a long time ago.

I should be smarter somehow.

When I look down I see a coffee stain on my t-shirt.

The happiest recent event was walking with hubby and doggy in the park today.

If I were a character in Friends, I would look fat next to them.

By this time next year, I will be a world famous blogger with millions of adoring fans and blocked pop-up ads.

My current distress is my stomach hurts from the antibiotics.

I have a hard time understanding math. Limitations. Supposedly intelligent people who are racist.

I want to buy time.

I plan on visiting my in-laws next weekend.

If I could spend the night at any house, it would be those castles in Scooby Doo episodes.

The world could do without hatred and stupidity. Violence. Petty people.

The most recent thing I bought myself is a dress (off ebay) and some prescriptions (not off ebay).

The most recent thing that someone else bought for me was groceries.

My middle name is Mercurio. It used to be Mary, but I changed it when I got married. I took my maiden name as my middle name.

In the morning I have to make sure the girls get ready for school. I need coffee. I like to write.

Last night I was sick.

There is this guy I know that needs his face slapped thoroughly.

If I was an animal, I would be a Canadian Goose.

A better name for me would be Wings.

Tomorrow, I will go to church. Don't I sound wholesome?

On Saturday mornings I like to write.

Tonight we will all be home together.

Lake Brittle, Part II

The beauty of Lake Brittle, take two, this time on a longer hike with Hubby. We soon discovered that the trail does not go all the way around the lake. We made our way through webs and spiders that looked strong enough to eat us. Their webs caught us along the way, no normal webs, strong webs, the kind that feel like thin, nylon threads.

One of the first, cool days of the season, the kind of day that makes you high, breathing in fresh air instead of heat, spirited air, not the still air of late summer.

And a glorious day to fish.....everyone was out, though apparently, not many fish were caught by the reports. My husband says I am getting like his father, talking to everyone I run into....I love to ask, "Did you catch anything?" And a passer by with a German Shepherd..."Is your puppy friendly? Can I pet him?"

And I cannot seem to stop taking pictures. I am getting just like my mother. I wish I had taken a picture of the blond boy and girl searching for craw daddies, but I really never know how perfect strangers feel about that.

Soon, I might start hugging these strangers, the way my mother does. But that's what a cool day with flowers does to me. How I love the beauty of life!

A Few Hours at the Lake

We are happy to have found yet another unexplored park and one with wonderful water...Lake Brittle. I have been wondering where all the real lakes are in Virginia.

We'd looked for this place before and never could find it. It's rather tucked away, and we needed the website directions to get there (not much signage). It was well worth it, and the drive is lovely...through sections of still preserved farmland and woods. What a breath of fresh, albeit hot, air! And I bet this place is gorgeous in the winter.

A sweet local boy shows us all how to catch crayfish and what frogs' eggs look like.

We find a hurt bird on the trail and try to ease its passing.

The walks and docks make this a perfect place for fishing and meandering.

Butterflies and dragonflies feast on the shoreline.

Maybe next time, the boat rental office will be open and we will get to row in the water.

Looking forward to going back to visit the butterflies.

The Case for Camping

Stirring up the mud from the creek, we waded through cool water, scanning the edges of underwater terrain for shadows of fish, polliwogs, or snakes. Rambunctious minnows dodged our feet which were still clad in sandals, leather moccasins, and one pair only in socks that will never again be white. After all, we wanted the experience, but we didn't want to risk intimacy with a stray broken bottle or orphaned fish hook. The socks didn't provide much protection, true, but they gave my younger daughter some relief from the "ick" of the most squishy mud.

But before all that, we had loaded the bikes into the van, three piled one on top another, a confusing pyramid in the limited space of the van's body, trying to keep pedals from locking into spokes and tires from scraping the children's knees. Though squished, the girls insisted that they could ride like this for hours, and I thanked fate the park is less than thirty minutes away. I didn't worry when taking right hand turns because the bikes and children were packed so tightly, there was no room for avalanche or injury, so the ride went rather well.

The road in Bull Run Regional Park is lovingly flat for those of us who are not often or avid riders, and even the youngest could keep up with her shiftless bicycle. Now and then rain sprinkled through an odd summer sun that was neither too warm nor too evasive, and the breeze, a gift for bike riders, added to our enjoyment. I will not pretend there was not a certain amount of whining ("My legs feel like jelly!" and "Mom...can I be second?" "MOM! I don't WANT to be last!") and I can't say some of the whining didn't come from me, but mine at least came much later when in the evening I was reminded once again that my behind does not fit the shape of a bike seat, even with a gel pad.

Still, we rode from the entrance up to the camp store where I had a sudden attack of, "I don't want to leave here!" and ran in to see if they had cabins available for this coming weekend. And miracle of miracles, or fate of fate, which ever you prefer, there were, even though the 4th of July is almost upon us. I made the reservation (grinning so much I am sure the young man behind the wooden counter was getting nervous), made sure we could get a rain check if for some reason it didn't work out, and then pondered how I was going to sell this wonderful idea to my husband AFTER I had already drooled on the camp map and paid for two nights for which I was charged under $150.00.

A bottle of water later, we took the bikes over to the playground where the girls slithered happily through huge, cement tubes surrounded by enough sand to host a beach. I lay on one of the benches under the shade, sucking in the sounds of playing children and the imagined sighs of my husband whom I pictured not wanting to go "away" this weekend. I played over and over again in my mind how I would present my case, recalling that he had promised we would do this SOME time over the summer....we just hadn't discussed doing it quite so soon. Besides, there were so many things we could do in the park: hike, play mini-golf, build camp fires, swim in the huge pool with slides and fountains, fish, even an air conditioned cabin.... And all so close by. What was not to love? And if really was too soon, well, we could always take the rain check and use the reservation another time.

Ruminations on hold, I walked over to see my daughters engaged and covered in sand, crouching in the cement tube in some childhood realm that we as adults no longer have access to. I asked them if they were ready to leave. They were, and being hot (since there are no trees covering the playground and sand), asked to wade in the creek. They were excited when I said yes and discovered we could ride the bikes there as well. So we parked the bikes near a steep, inclined access to the creek, and slipping somewhat on packed clay all the way to the base, had the water take away our sweat from the days' exertions. And now, my cell phone, still in the van, was only a hundred or so yards away.....

The bikes back in the van, the girls buckled in, I made the call. I made the case.

And he said...

"Yes."

YIPPEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Tick, Tick, Tick

I got to go on a charming hike this morning. It was meant to be an hour or so in order to give me time to get some other things done. It ended up being two and a half hours, none of which I regret, but some of which were spent in the discomfort of knowing I was, once again, completely lost and that time was, indeed, passing.

Now I have several theories of being lost in the woods on trails, one of which I have held true since getting lost driving in the Boston area: so long as you are on Earth, you are never really lost. My husband says this is rather a broad theory to live by, and in some ways, especially on days like today, I have to agree with him. When I called him from the trail and reminded him of my other theory, "Well it has to come out SOMEWHERE," he reminded me that "somewhere" might be a very long way off and did I really have time for that? Today he also said I would have to face a lengthy lecture from him when he got home. I really didn't mean to worry him. But when you are alone and thinking you are lost and you have a cell phone, it does help to talk to one you love....and of course, one who can look up locations on the Internet.

I wandered around quite a bit more, recalling that "not all those who wander are lost," and it turns out I wasn't so VERY lost, as is usually the case (it's not like I am hiking in the Shenandoah Valley or the Rockies by myself...I was in a county park), and along with his other good advice (like "would you PLEASE get a compass???") my husband advised me after looking up a map, "Well, you are not in Quantico, which is good. You will either end up in the middle of county woods or in a housing development." A few more miles of hiking, I finally did hear vehicles on a road--it had been deliciously but then rather disturbingly silent from traffic until then. Traffic and construction are a given in this area unless you REALLY wander out, and I was back to the familiar sounds of dump trucks. Eager to end my trot at this point, I followed the echoes, and of course, lo and behold.....a subdivision in the distance.

They were still building, and I had to jump some partitions and waddle through high grass before I realized suddenly I was in the back yards of gazillion dollar homes with 10+ acres of land per lot. I breathed relief that no residents came out to question why a sweaty thirty-something carrying a camera was meandering across their property, as I would have been quite embarrassed to admit that once again, I was indeed turned around, and this time in a park I had visited only twice before.

I used to get lost in a park that no matter where you got went, you ended up by a road sooner than later, and you could always hear the traffic. Today's park was a little different, and there were absolutely no signs to indicate the trails or directions. My mother called, mid-adventure, and when I told her where I was (or wasn't), she treated me to her usual hysteria complete with reminders that "they are all crazy out there." Apparently, in her mind, everyone is crazy except those who reside in Orlando, which seems rather odd to me considering the number of people there dressed like cartoon characters and princesses.

So in the end, my theory that I would come out SOMEWHERE indeed proved true, and I headed back down the main road towards the park and the parking lot. On the way, I was treated to a goose with her little ones heading towards a small pond housed on some rich person's front lawn, and so I took a picture. I wondered after if the owner would run out and question me, but no...nothing. I think if someone were walking around taking pictures of the front of MY house, I would want to know why, but maybe no one saw me. I would have just told them the truth--that I wanted to take pictures of their Canadian Geese. If they asked why again, I would have to delve into my wish to come back as a Canadian Goose in my next life, but that I would not want to spend that lifetime in their front yard. This might have taken several hours of explaining, so I am glad no one came out.

No harm done, then, except I annoyed and worried my husband, elicited some typical panic from my mother, and got ample blisters on my unprepared feet. It struck me that perhaps, even if I do buy a compass, I should write to the county and ask them why there are no markers on their trails, and maybe I will at some point. But after I relax a little and search for ticks.

Yuck. I hope I don't find any.

Now is the Winter of Our Discontent

Well, as always happens after I visit someone whose backyard is filled with space and trees, I have become seriously jealous of those who are not crammed into expensive subdivisions made more for profit than for human living. Now I really hate to be jealous. It's not an emotion or a quality I aspire to, yet I find myself feeling it all the time because as I noted before to Lilith, it's hard not to compare yourself to your own idea of perfection. This is true in writing, in the arts, and in life.

Still, I got up this morning and looked out my back porch at the little "woods" we DO have, and I was truly thankful for the summer birds and squirrels. The squirrels have learned to raid our porch supply of seed, climbing into the plastic bin by first nibbling a hole in the cover, removing the cover, and diving right in. We have had to relocate the bins back into the kitchen, but that has not stopped the squirrels from foraging through the pots of "plants" on our deck. What smart little creatures they are, and so full of mischief! I do wish, however, they would clean up after themselves, especially after they dump potting soil all over the deck.

But even while I am extremely grateful for everything we have including our squirrels, what makes me most jealous is beauty--beauty in the natural world, and to a point (only to a point) physical, bodily beauty. I go back and forth on envying bodily beauty because my concept of what is beautiful changes so often, and I do not wish at all to be beautiful in the commercial sense. I do wish I were healthier and thinner and that all the imperfections of things like my thighs and stretch marks would disappear. But all of this is purely secondary to my love of beautiful surroundings, namely, those decorated by the natural world.

I lust for trees. Yes, I want a yard, but more than anything, I want trees, big trees, the kind the kids can climb. When the children were small, I lived in a townhouse preempted by a huge tree right in the small front yard. It was lovely. I could see it from every front window, and it reached the third level. It turned colors with the seasons and it shed it ample leaves, enough to make scarecrows from. But the best part of this place, even though it was smaller and far less assuming than this place, was that there is a trail running in back of the development. The trail rambles first behind the other town homes, and eventually, behind the tennis courts, and then into the woods alongside a stream. Across the stream parallels Bull Run Regional Park. We could engage in a forested walk whenever we wanted, and the trail went on for miles. If we walked far enough, we would end up at Splash Down, a water park on the other side of town and practically in another county.

I first discovered this trail accidentally when my brother was living with me, prior to my re-marriage. My children were away visiting my ex-husband, and I convinced my brother to walk with me and my Shiba Inu. It was rather a warm day, but it was the first time I able to venture so far without my toddler and pre-schooler, and so we walked and walked, noting the ebbs and flow of the stream, the flowers, the huge trees, him sweating and complaining, the dog stopping to sniff anything remotely interesting to her.

At one point we came upon a miniature bamboo forest. Only having lived in this area for about a year, I was surprised that bamboo could grow here. My husband and I have walked back here a few times since then, and the bamboo forest has spread. He thinks probably someone planted one or two sprouts, and the stuff has spread with the moistness of that trail.

I remember one of the first times I walked there alone while the spring flowers were blooming. I don't know what these flowers were, but they were bright yellow, and a veritable field of them. I came to them from around a corner, and the shock of seeing them all.....and it amazed me to be so amazed by sudden yellow flowers.

That is when I decided the best place to live would be in a home with trees, but a home that backed up to a park that would never be developed. I would not have to maintain the trails (not really in the scope of my talents or budget) but I could traipse through the woods regularly and bathe in all that nature has to offer those of us who require beauty. In the meantime, I am sure I will have to be jealous.

Some summer or winter, I will be able to drop my jealousy and it will all seem like a stupid period of time in my life, one wasted with thoughts of "never." Until then, I do love my squirrels, and I remember a time when the woods were so at my fingertips, I felt like I could breathe.

Quotes from the Kids

Erika, age 12, December 31, 2009

"I'm never going to wear makeup again."

We'll see how long that lasts.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''
Erika: I can't find my glasses! I've looked everywhere!
Us: Let us help.
Hours later with no success.....
Girls: Mom! Dad! Can we watch a movie?
Mom and Dad: Yes.
Five minutes later...
Girls: WE CAN'T GET THE TAPE IN! IT'S JAMMED!
Dad (fiddling with it for five minutes): I don't know what's wrong with this thing. The tape won't go in.
Five minutes later....
Daddy: ERRRRRRRIKA......what are your glasses doing INSIDE THE VCR????
Erika: I don't know! I don't know! I didn't put them there!
Daddy: Did you put them there Alex?
Alexandra: No.
Ten minutes later.....
Alexandra: Okay. Yes. I did put them there. I wanted to play at trick on Erika. (ages 10 and 11)
_______________________________-
Me: I have a lot of papers to grade. I don't know how I am ever going to get them done.

Alexandra (age 9): My teacher has to grade lots of papers. She has forty!

Me: Teachers have to do so much work! I don't know where they get the energy."

Alexandra: "They get it from food when they eat!"

______________________________________________________________

The geese had bands around their legs. "Oh!" I said, pointing to one male. "He has a band around his leg. Do you know what that means?" I asked the girls.


"Yes," said Erika, nine at the time. "That's for social security." (Erika, age 9)

___________________________

Daddy was holding Alexandra's stuffed bunny rabbit, and she wanted it back. Daddy pouted and held it close to his chest, pretending he didn't want to give it up. "Don't worry, Daddy," she said. "You have ME!" (age 7 at the time)

___________________________________

Erika, age nine at the time: "Some people say that butterflies are the souls of people."
What a lovely thought! (Erika, age 9)

___________________________________


"Alexandra, take chill pill," I said.

"A chill pill? Is that like amoxicillin?"
(age 8)

___________________________________

After watching the movie and listening to music from Phantom of the Opera: "The Phantom should watch Hunchback of Notre Dame. That would make him feel better. Quasimotto looked ugly, too, but his friends loved him and helped him and he didn't hate anyone. "

They might not have said this had they read the original book, but.....they have the right idea, don't they? (ages 9 and 10)

__________________________________

Erika shouting at the bus stop: "Bye Mom! Love you! Don't let Shiba eat cat puke today!"

I'm going to get her for that. (age 10)

__________________________________

Erika to her teacher at the teacher's conference: "Ms. M. You have bed head!"

After giving Erika my "look" : "It's okay. Sometimes I have bedhead too."

We're still working on those social skills. (age 10)

________________________________________

Erika (age 10): "I know how you met Daddy."
Mom: "How?"
Erika: "On e-Harmony.com"

Pause. Mom: (after fits of laughter, because it's just not the same world it used to be) "Well, you're kind of right. Except it was Yahoo Personals."

Kind of makes me wonder how THEY will meet their future loves.

__________________________________-

At three years old, Erika was accustomed to a baby gate across her door, giving her time to play quietly before she took a nap in her toddler bed.

One day, I decided to see if she would nap without the gate.

"Mommy!" I heard, as I walked down the hall.

"What honey?"

"I can't sleep without my nap-time cage!"

______________________________

Something to picture:

Alexandra, age ten, riding on her bike, holding a dead beaver by its tail.

"I wanted to bring it home to bury it."

_______________________________

Erika, age 12, talking to Sallie, the dog, who apparently felt her be-hind wasn't as clean as it could be: "Sallie--stop butt surfing!"

______________________________

Alexandra, age 11, upon seeing a wig: "That thing freaks me out. I'M KEEPING AN EYE ON YOU, WIG!"

Going to the Woods to Live Deliberately

There are few things that give me so much pleasure as being in the woods.

Of course, there are bugs and pollen and sneezes, but these natural annoyances are parts and parcels of the forest and of me. I learned to live with these and love the woods at an early age, and some parts of the personality, thank goodness, never change.

I took a side trail in the park this morning, and decided to sit on a small mound of grass by the stream, one of my children's already used notebooks on my lap, sunglasses and fanny pack tossed aside for the moment. A thick limb overhung the stream, ric-rac reflections from the water casting images on bark, bright light on coarse brown, nothing but the banter of the birds and this light soothing my senses. I wonder if birds can see reflections.

A tiny fish surprised me, jumping out of the shallow water, the splash emanating ripples and quiet watery sounds, audio-visual treats from someone like me who is often overwhelmed in a busy audio-visual world. You see, I have ADD, and I often feel like a sensory sponge. But a sponge can hold only so much liquid. I tend to absorb most of what is around me, distracted by the external, and all at the same time. I come to the woods for a bit of a break. And in the woods, I get to think and write in ways I cannot at home.

I was soon distracted not by one but by three families of Canadian Geese gliding over the thin water, behind each adult, at least four goslings. They stopped at the base of a narrow, damp ribbon of a trail, one adult taking the lead climbing what must have been a steep challenge for the waddling goslings that followed. That was the pattern: adult, goslings, adult goslings, adult, goslings, a combined group of close to twenty.

Having made it to the top, they began to feed, and I thought about joining their family. This is a park, and they live in peace. The worms are plentiful and the people on this remote trail, sparse. I was the only one there, and I wondered who else had used the trail. It was a bit overrun and off the beaten path, just like I love a trail to be.

It is cool in the woods when the air is warm, and it is alive when our society feels dead. How I would love to be camping right now, more hours in the woods, living alongside birds.

Soon, I promise myself. We will take a camping trip soon.