Day 347

Tim wrestling with the boys on Yirrell Beach in Winthrop in December 2002.  Mr Furley (the dog) ignoring them in the distance.  As you can see, there is not another soul on the frozen beach, only the crazy South Africans with their well-developed cabin-fever!

Hearing the car door slam late last night, Matthew and I raced each other down two flights of stairs to get to the door first, but of course Matt's strong young body won, and he was the first to greet his dad with a big bear-hug!  Nick was, unfortunately, fast asleep, so Matthew got to choose his San Fransisco sweater, and chose the navy-blue one, while Nick got the toast-brown one.  (When Nick was little he had a favourite navy-blue jersey that he called his "maybe-blue long-sleeve".)

This morning Molly and I ran through the bleak darkening sky, threatening rain, and later tonight apparently snow.  I was a bit slower than yesterday, but fine, 4.40 km at 7.28 minutes per km.  I forgot to drink water or have honey before I left home, and as soon as I remembered that fact, I began to feel odd, that mind-body connection works both ways, our minds trick and deceive and perplex our bodies, and vice-versa, it would seem.

The meadow is bare and  empty of birds, although there are constant throngs around my feeders.  And three beautiful, fat, sleek squirrels were feeding on the ground pickings this morning, they must be this summer's crop, free as they are from the ripped ears and shredded tails of their elders.

In Winthrop we had very tame squirrels with names like Preggie-Meggie, who later produced four bouncing babies, and Cranky-Cronkie, a crazy fellow who would venture right inside the house on occasion and have to be chased out.  Jess took this wonderful photograph of him "knocking" on the door, looking for food, "Er, excuse me, have your forgotten about putting out our nuts?".

Matthew was amazed at this brussel sprout stalk.  He had never realised that that is how they grow.  And how many other things are we so removed from that we have no idea of their intricate organic selves?  When I was manning the observation hives at the Topsfield Fair one year, one child told me that he had always thought honey was bee-poo!  And several children had never tasted honey in their lives, let alone wondered where it came from!

It is our downfall, this retreat from Nature.  I believe it is one of the reasons why so many people are on medication.  If people just got out and went for a walk every day they would be happier, just like that, maybe not over-the-moon happy, but definitely happier, because exercise releases endorphins.  And then the next day they would maybe notice the tree on the corner, how its leaves whisper in the wind.  Or maybe they are lucky enough to walk past the little pond with a few ducks on it, and the day after that they would look for the ducks and wonder why there were more, or fewer, or they would notice how the bull-rushes were growing, how the little purple vetch waved at them in the gentle breeze, how the sky is different every day, always beautiful, no matter how it looks, this vast safe canopy donating just enough sunlight for life to flourish.

And here is another sweet picture of Tim, just because I am so glad to have him back.  New Year's Eve, First Night Celebrations in Boston, 2002.  Dancing with Nick on Boston Common.
"My old man, he's a singer in the park,
He's a walker in the rain, he's a dancer in the dark!"
-Joni Mitchell

And tonight, a drawing I did of my beautiful eldest daughter Emma when she was about eleven.