Wednesday, December 17, 2003
Rain today. Andrew and I, our goal to walk to school every day of the school year, trudge through the wet with our IKEA umbrellas. He chooses yellow, his favorite color, I choose blue, we are a walking advertisement for the Swedish firm as we move along Duncan Drive.
Walking down Burn Brae the surface water picks up speed, coursing down the street and sidewalk. I neglect to have Andrew put his boots on so I worry about his wet feet all day in school. What would the teacher think about the way we care for this child? Who would send their child to school with wet feet? Of course he is oblivious...
We talk about people who walk their dogs and allow the animals to poop and pee on the lawns, streets, and sidewalks. Is the street water fit to drink? What's in the runoff water anyway? Where is the water coming from. We can see water sheeting off driveways, out of lawns, off roofs and roadways. We wonder what it looks like at the bottom of the section. Cars pass us plowing through the section like wheeled tugboats.
We see our friend who lives one block from the school driving her kids up Bruce Drive. She has tried the short walk to school with her two kids lately but today the thought of walking in the rain with grumbling kids must be too daunting to her.
Andrew wants me to bump the low-hanging branches of Weeping Spruces at the top of the hill so he can get a double shower on his umbrella. I oblige. We laugh at this.
Andrew loves the idea that the umbrellas are automatic. They go up at the push of the button. We finally get to the school back door. Usually the door is open but lately it's locked. I worry that no one will let us in and we have to slog around the front, in front of all the mini-van soccer moms dropping their dry kids off. But a student opens it for us. He does want to take the umbrella in with him. I tell him that wouldn't be a good idea since it's too big. It take it from him and bring it home. Andrew, as usual, doesn't say good-bye.
His teacher is strict about leaving things in the classroom at the end of the day. Am I paranoid about this cheap umbrella getting lost in the 'lost and found' box at the front office. She doesn't keep kids' things in the classroom so the kids are more responsible for their possessions, I suppose. And Andrew fears forgetting.... and is intimidated by his teacher.
After school, I bring the umbrellas back with me when I pick him up even though it's raining less. A cold front has blown in and the wind causes us some problems. It's hard to hold the umbrellas still. I think Mary Poppins. "'Ere, feel the tug?" Was it a kite? Andrew suddenly announces he has to go to the bathroom. He collapses the umbrella and runs ahead. For some reason he doesn't use the bathroom at school and many days we high-tail it home. "Come on, Pop. I gotta hurry!" I've worn my hiking boots (waterproof but clunky) so I can't run. He is sprinting up Burn Brae. He is a sturdy runner. I yell, "Both houses are open. Pick your bathroom! You run ahead."
Walking down Burn Brae the surface water picks up speed, coursing down the street and sidewalk. I neglect to have Andrew put his boots on so I worry about his wet feet all day in school. What would the teacher think about the way we care for this child? Who would send their child to school with wet feet? Of course he is oblivious...
We talk about people who walk their dogs and allow the animals to poop and pee on the lawns, streets, and sidewalks. Is the street water fit to drink? What's in the runoff water anyway? Where is the water coming from. We can see water sheeting off driveways, out of lawns, off roofs and roadways. We wonder what it looks like at the bottom of the section. Cars pass us plowing through the section like wheeled tugboats.
We see our friend who lives one block from the school driving her kids up Bruce Drive. She has tried the short walk to school with her two kids lately but today the thought of walking in the rain with grumbling kids must be too daunting to her.
Andrew wants me to bump the low-hanging branches of Weeping Spruces at the top of the hill so he can get a double shower on his umbrella. I oblige. We laugh at this.
Andrew loves the idea that the umbrellas are automatic. They go up at the push of the button. We finally get to the school back door. Usually the door is open but lately it's locked. I worry that no one will let us in and we have to slog around the front, in front of all the mini-van soccer moms dropping their dry kids off. But a student opens it for us. He does want to take the umbrella in with him. I tell him that wouldn't be a good idea since it's too big. It take it from him and bring it home. Andrew, as usual, doesn't say good-bye.
His teacher is strict about leaving things in the classroom at the end of the day. Am I paranoid about this cheap umbrella getting lost in the 'lost and found' box at the front office. She doesn't keep kids' things in the classroom so the kids are more responsible for their possessions, I suppose. And Andrew fears forgetting.... and is intimidated by his teacher.
After school, I bring the umbrellas back with me when I pick him up even though it's raining less. A cold front has blown in and the wind causes us some problems. It's hard to hold the umbrellas still. I think Mary Poppins. "'Ere, feel the tug?" Was it a kite? Andrew suddenly announces he has to go to the bathroom. He collapses the umbrella and runs ahead. For some reason he doesn't use the bathroom at school and many days we high-tail it home. "Come on, Pop. I gotta hurry!" I've worn my hiking boots (waterproof but clunky) so I can't run. He is sprinting up Burn Brae. He is a sturdy runner. I yell, "Both houses are open. Pick your bathroom! You run ahead."
Sunday, December 07, 2003
Shoveling Mint
In this latest snowfall
The strong aroma of mint
Wafts into the frigid air
As I cut the edges of
The whitened sidewalk.
In summer, the garden plant,
Growing wild and uncontrolled,
Spilled over the sidewalk boundary
And formed a gradual greening cover
Along the edge between walk and lawn.
Now, underneath the snowpack,
I shovel-cut into the spreading shoots
Releasing a pungency - the long forgotten scent of summer
Into the cold, crisp winter air.
In this latest snowfall
The strong aroma of mint
Wafts into the frigid air
As I cut the edges of
The whitened sidewalk.
In summer, the garden plant,
Growing wild and uncontrolled,
Spilled over the sidewalk boundary
And formed a gradual greening cover
Along the edge between walk and lawn.
Now, underneath the snowpack,
I shovel-cut into the spreading shoots
Releasing a pungency - the long forgotten scent of summer
Into the cold, crisp winter air.
