he laughed and took my money

twenty one. it's almost too cold for ice-cream, now, which is probably for the best.

kindermusik classes are off to a good start. saturday was busy and i felt a little overwhelmed. we just need to buck up and not be so lazy on saturdays, anyway.



jude took a thirty minute nap today and woke up grinning. ugh. he's going to be a crab later, will sleep in the car at the wrong times, and be a total crab at church tonight. looking on the bright side, henry is napping perfectly. amazing what sleep will do for everyone.

berio is gone. the fleas are not, however. did they come from the cats? from the yard? did ernie drag them home from secretly flea-bearing people at his workplace? did a student bring them in on white socks, releasing them onto the mashad, never to look back as they jumped from place to place? one will never know. dave is coming friday to rid us of these pests. and the ants in the kitchen, too: their trails from the trash can, across the wall, and through the window will be no more. one can also hope for the spiders in the windows on the sunporch to curl up and die a miserable death by poison. i cannot believe what has to be done before dave can spray. honestly now, does everyone do it all? mortified at the presence of fleas we will spare no expense or exasperation to be flea free. they could charge double and we would pay for it, they could insist we move every stick of furniture from the house and we would do it.

that wriggled and jiggled and tickled inside her . . .

paper cat rider

yet another reason, perhaps, for berio to move on along.

and a sweet hooray for orange corderoy! at long last we've several days in a row of gray cold and a flutter of red on a leaf who leaves rain stains and memory on the sidewalk.

where have you been?
i've been to london to visit the queen.
what did you there?
i frightened a little mouse under her chair.
oh no!
oh yes!

you've nowhere to hide: she's asking you why you think it's funny

waiting for a ride jude stands in a jacket poking his finger through an unfortunate hole in the screen door. his eyes shine blue and long-lashed. he dances in place wearing shoes. he walks to grandmama's house too, now, stopping often to gather sticks and stomp on leaves. he's a baby and a boy all at once. so fast, this time with jude. much faster than with henry. a woman at church has a tiny baby who seems impossibly small. a swirl in the air is all that's left of jude's tiny-ness. if i swing my head around quickly towards the swirl i get a glimmer of it before it's gone.



this studio is serious business! two kindermusik classes have made and start tomorrow. the kindermusik room sparkles. the instruments are cleaned and organized. there are new materials waiting to be carried home by little hands worn by smiling children. i can only accept four, maybe five, more private piano students before starting a waiting list! ernie has room for a few more students, but those he has are minds of which to be proud. in one year we've been blessed more than our stupid little faithless selves imagined. perhaps we'll boom enough to quit any other money-making endeavors and just be musicians and live well off of that. someday.

and a special awe-struck thanks to the ever-fabulous tim as, because of his genius and insane ability, our greene bird studios is on the verge of reaching even greater heights of serious business-ness. patience: such secrets to be unveiled at a later time.

once again a breezy cold rain, happily plunking down after henry and i (as jude napped) spent the morning cleaning up the yard, planting mums, running with sticks.

henry sports a new "captain's sword" purchased in the "creepy place" (halloween central) at walmart. it's chintzy and plastic with overly-shiny golden paint, but it comes with a sheath and, in henry's eyes, it's a serious golden treasure not to be taken lightly. "there be the chest and inside be the gold!" he shouts, a one-eyed wonder who blows his mama a kiss on his way up the stairs. sweetness indeed.

maybe we'll be caught for hours (waiting out the sun)

last night while in and out of sleep in the midst of helping boys to sleep we heard the horrible shriek of a car accident right in front of our house. it was loud and terrible. people were screaming in the road.



jude was drooling and long gone but henry was all about the further investigation that followed. ernie took his flashlight and we all went out, henry waiting with me on the front steps. two fire trucks, two police cars, one ambulance and one tow truck, all with lights flipping over and around in a flash were cause for great excitement for our underwear clad three year old.



thankfully, no one was hurt. a car flew up the hill (one of many in day) and smashed our neighbor's parked truck. just before the tow truck pulled the car away the owner popped the trunk and retrieved his golf clubs. we need more stop signs on this road! or speed bumps. or flower and tree filled planters!

we've another chewer of gum in this house! an extremely cute one at that. he chews the gum with his front seven teeth, sticking it out with his tongue to blow bubbles like mama. so smart, he is.



ernie plays late tonight, a gig with the doc who delivered me of my gum chewer many moons ago. we're wondering if joining the band will provide us with maternity benefits.

the boys sleep. the house is a wreck. we scattered kindermusik fliers and studio fliers and cool metallic pinwheels over the crowds in the local parade this morning. we wore cool shirts and walked alongside a white truck. for under a hundred bucks we got a lot of good advertisement. any other ideas for effective yet cheap (or free) advertising of our booming business?

berio the black has got to go. i'm furious with myself. i could have had an ergo for the cost of this wretched cat. i need a comfort corner and i need it now. the cat has not stopped crying since his sister was adopted. he has peed and pooped in terrible locations. i just can't deal with potty-learning three year old pee and poop, cloth-diapered one year old pee and poop, and anxious neurotic seven month old feline pee and poop. is this justified frustration or sadly poltroonish?

like an ocean, mysterious and dark

the living room air gypsy gave out on us. just when the heat was rising yet again. but it rained again last night and aside from giving the ferns new spindly fronds it delivered us from perspiration and sent a cool breeze winging her way through the house.

the neighbor's back tree, tall and glorious has begun to release leaves across their backyard, golden and crunchy. we've trees everywhere. we need to buy a blower. a cordless one. raking is for people who live in new subdivisions with miniature trees bearing two hundred and eight leaves a piece.

little brother played a gig in elmwood last weekend.



i forgot to take pictures of him (?) but did manage to guffaw and take a few pictures of enthusiastic cloggers.



it was hot and the audience was lame but they smiled and whooped just the same. (note: little brother and friend setting up the stage behind the smiling, "northern-ankled" dancers.)



even though it means that winter and the cold slushiness that comes with it is coming all too soon, the changing of colors and breezes and temperature making up that which is autumn is, quite possibly, my favorite time of year. when i was a young and silly college girl i couldn't concentrate for the weather and color. we were girls escaping in cars with windows rolled down and jackets pulled tight, we'd drive away in silence, feeling fragile and yet so alive. we knew something mortal about the lonely trees, the blueness of sky pole-vaulting above us, and it made us live a little bigger, a little more haphazard, than perhaps we should have.

today's twenty things i love about autumn:

1. the cessation of involuntary sweating.
2. the purchase and wearing of sweaters and corderoy.
3. crunching over crispy leaves and brittle sticks.
4. cold wooden floors under first-thing-in-the-morning feet.
   
5. hot coffee mugs in cold hands.
6. early darkness.
7. boys with rosy cheeks.
8. piles and piles of gold, worth nothing but good jumping, scattering, hurled high, wide.
   
9. halloween and everything creepy about it.
10. fall festivals, mostly the food, fried and frittered and caramel dipped to perfection.
11. long scarves wound around necks!
12. the library.
    
13. the sky through leafless trees.
14. pumpkins and squash, gourd and berry.
15. cold sand at the playground.
16. cuddling up a little closer.
17. new books.
18. kneesocks.
19. ant hibernation.
20. long drives through the country.
    

"i did love you once."

finding ourselves overwhelmed with cats who are no longer cuddly kittens i place an ad in the paper:

free to good home, cute gray tiger-striped 7 month old female kitten; litter trained; good with children.

saturday morning a woman called from a pay phone and asked if she could come by. she and her husband walked slowly, sixty years slowly, up the steps into the living room. i handed them the beautiful ophelia. the man says, "look what i brought you!" and pulls a rhinestone collar from his pocket. he takes the cat from the black-toothed woman (seriously, yes. those teeth that were left in her mouth were black. and pointy-sharp.) and tells her, "you're gonna have to drive home!" they limp (seriously, yes. there was limping involved.) away and i wave berio's paw at them (not really). she'll be renamed as her new owners could not pronounce "ophelia." she'll be crowned royalty, spoiled and pampered and bedecked in (fake) jewels. berio is probably jealous.

i predicted that henry would say, "where is mine other cat?" when he came back from swimming, that ernie would shout, "hooray!" as he danced a jig on the mashad when he came home from swimming. but they did not. henry has hardly noticed. i told him we were "sharing" one of his cats with people who did not have any cats at all. berio searches the house for his sister, meowing at all of us.

i felt dramatically sad and called my mom, who reminded me that ophelia peed on the floor. "think of the pee!" she says. ernie and i feel relieved. having one cat napping in the sun, frisking and batting at our feet under the table, is better.

firmly, AWANA stands . . .

he knows the cubbie motto. he recites the first verse he's learned for next week. the vest is worn on and off again throughout the day. he struts into the gas station on the way home from church, vest on, his bag waiting in the car. he knows he's hot stuff and he likes it.

"it's too much," ernie says and we both feel a little sad. jude snoozes on the drive through the end of summer haze to "mine home," as henry calls it (mein hof?).

19 and 20. i think we'll be under the 25 mark by the time the dream closes her doors for winter in mid-october. not bad, not bad at all.

it rained a bit last night sending a damp, earthy vapor rising up from the earth for the few moments of storm. wind in the trees, the patter slap of rain on leaves and slate and pavement, and a gray green starless evening sky made for an early bedtime after toast and chocolate milk for dinner and a quick bubbly bath for two pairs of sticky dirty grass dancing feet.

"X is the mark cowboys make to get paid." not this cowboy. henry writes H and E, on the way towards writing his own handsome name. he works dough and dirt, he paints with precision, we read together, glue together, work together. "let's do school," he says and he's serious.

does anyone have a copy of demarest's Cowboy ABC that they'd be willing to part with and send greeneward? we're in love and it's out of print. be on the lookout. seriously, now.

A is for Appaloosa, a trusty steed.
B is for Buckaroo, who rides at top speed.
C are the Cattle that follow the trail.
D is the Dog, wagging his tail.
E is for Elk, majestic and fleet.
F is the Farrier, who shoes horse's feet.
G is the Guitar strummed late at night.
H is the Hat that's pulled way down tight.
I is for Indian paintbrush in bloom.
J are the Jinglebobs, jingling a tune.
K is for Kerchief to keep dust away.
L is the Lariat that brings back the stray.
M is for Mesas that rise up so high.
N are the Nighthawks that circle the sky.
O is the Oilcloth, slick when it rains.
P are the Prairie dogs; they live on the plains.
Q if for Quirt -- give a crack of that whip!
R is for Reins -- Hang on tight! Let 'er rip!
S is for Saddle, mounted with ease.
T is for Tumbleweed, tossed by the breeze.
U's Union Pacific, its steam whistle sings.
V is for Vest that can hold many things.
W's the Wagon where all meals are made.
X is the mark cowboys make to get paid.
Y is for Yearlings, by their mothers they stay.
Z is the sound at the end of the day.

i don't know that i've ever been so tempted to steal a book from the library . . .

"though she was born a long time ago, your mother should know."

paint in the hair, the mouth, the navel. paint to sqeeze, squish and smear. anything to clean the kitchen without interruption. they paint themselves, the table, the chairs, the paper. they use brushes and fingers and rollers and spoons. henry is proud and insists on hanging them up. jude hurls his paper to the floor in true artistic disdain and starts over. we love paint!



we love paint because it cleans up so much better than marker, particularly when applied to the skin. marker tattoos on hand and arm, tummy, are fun to show-off at sunday school and supermarket. but the paint turns the blueberry bath water into colors that swirl into gray before tornadoing down the drain.



paint is also better than crayon as it is extremely difficult to misplace bottles of paint, at least in my limited experience, but crayons roll away and are found and eaten later, found and used on walls and floors later. crayon is terrible to clean without a mr. clean magic eraser. marker, too. paint disappears with a little soap and water. paint is cold and messy. paint also costs a wee bit more than various sticks of color, except for chalk, which breaks and crumbles and melts on the tongue. so worth it for the paint, though, for such saturation and splatter.



henry starts awana tomorrow night! i held back tears when i took him to his big-kid sunday school class -- the three year olds. oh my gosh, he's in there sitting on chairs and singing and playing and seeing the bible come to life by way of the flannelgraph. his sunday school teacher is also his cubbie leader for awana, which is good for all involved. i'm nervous about awana! what if he can't handle it? how is it that he's old enough for such things? is he old enough?

i can't wait to buy the vest, i really can't.

zydeco et moi

the streets are quiet, the skateboarders and trampoline jumpers are in new togs sitting in old desks writing old things with new pencils. some glimmers of the yellow to come in a month or so flash as the wind streaks by. the house smells cold in the mornings, and some afternoons, most evenings.

the weekend blows down the drive in a hurry, twisting the leaves to show yellow and green streaks,too. although i don't normally teach on fridays, i also am not teaching on monday so students who were going to miss two mondays in a row of lessons are coming today instead. i loathe the first lesson after a long vacation, fingers fumbling, eyes glazed over with forget so, partially out of the goodness of my heart (the mother doesn't lose her twenty-five bucks) but mostly because i want to avoid a glazed-over lazy lesson, i'll be sitting inside teaching as the weekend mutters in the driveway.

henry will spend the night with grandmama and grandpa. i think he must have been hungry when i asked him what he was going to do at grandmama's house because he said that he "wants to eat a really good sandwich, chicken, fries, ketchup, pizza and coke." he will pack his bag and will run into the house shouting, "henry's here!" jude will come with his mama and will pass out due to good music bouncing off of the water, the people, the fat-fried-five-dollar "really good sandwiches."

hooray! i love the weekend!



I keep six honest serving men
(they taught me all I knew);
their names are What and Why and When
And How and Where and Who.
I send them over land and sea,
I send them east and west;
But after they have worked for me,
I give them all a rest.

I let them rest from nine till five,
for I am busy then,
As well as breakfast, lunch, and tea,
For they are hungry men:
But different folks have different views;
I know a person small --
She keeps ten million serving-men,
Who get no rest at all!
She sends 'em abroad on her own affairs,
From the second she opens her eyes --
One million Hows, two million Wheres,
And seven million Whys!

kipling, just so stories.