I am unoften without words.
Words, howsomever, take time, energy and clear perception
Lately, I have none of the three. Well, perhaps singularly, or even in pairs, I may have, but, altogether in one cohesive space/time continuum, not so much.
I can still wonder and marvel, laugh and love, respect and honor, witness and learn, savor and remember. That's what I set out to do here a couple hundred or more posts ago.
Zack's made a few of these and they defy all logic and somehow make all the more sense for it. Marci showed me how to scan the two halves of this and paste them together on the computer (who knew?), all I could think to do was this:
Yep, I took a picture of it. (Of course I once considered taking a photo of all the indecipherable notes I had stored on my phone, true story.)
I can't begin to explain my befuddlement at this. Not because I think it's silly, or funny, or cute but because it is brilliant. You try it, I'll wait...
On the right are some handy graphics; as you can see, the blue is the bottom floor, red in the middle, and the top is yellow and there is a design in place for a triple peaked roof. What the hell! I can't draw a convincing stick-figure and he is putting his ideas into three dimensions? Good Lord, imagine what he could do with a working knowledge of drafting and perspective and physics and, well, a ruler.
It simply flabbergasts me.
We found this the other day in Nick's wheelbarrow full of stuff he brought home the last day of school:
I know he called it a phoenix, a mythology he gleaned from a Magic Tree House book or Aurthur or, more likely, Phineas and Ferb.
There is a somewhat odd, and, honestly, grim detail down there in the bottom right corner:
A baby in a stroller saying "AAH!" as a mother says "Shhh!" Why?
And who is "fre .d bern?" And why is there a fifties-style UFO above it all? And why the hell was he doing this at school?
(Apparently, I did have some words today.)
I am sometimes - in a sideways sort of way - accused of making fun of the boys around here. I'm not. Anyone who knows me knows that. Actually, the truth of it is the opposite, I stand in awe of them. I admire them. This creativity, this innate intelligence, this cleverness, leaves me gobsmacked most of the time. And, honestly, embarrassingly, I remember that I, too, had it once and have squandered it away in adulthood, forgetting the wonder, forgetting the hope, forgetting the unbridled optimism that is childhood.
I'll keep looking for it in their souls, in their eyes, in their hopes and loves and dreams and in this utterly essential childhood nonsense.
From Marci's "... things you don't expect to hear from the backseat ..."
Z: "Italians get to eat pasta every night."
N: "And they are known for their French toast."
And Eskimo pies...