Saturday, November 24, 2012

On words and hope in winter

The days go past ...so fast.
Christmas is in a month. The days are short, cold and dark and windy.
Winter is always heavy and crushing.
Everyday brings too much. Too many things to remember too many people to take care of.
My daughter is traveling around south America...happy and adventurous.
They are three together.
They feel safe and untouchable...invincible.
She does not call as often as I would like...I do like to keep my people close.She wants to exercise her independance.

My oldest son is growing and I see him less and less...his friends becoming his world. I worry if I have done well enough. He seems fine ...not much of a talker though.
A skateboard or a snowboard, that is all he needs.

Sturla is making new strides and progress all the time and I am amazed and sometimes even hopeful that there will be an end in sight one day.
Perhaps.

I get nothing but good news from school. He works on group instructions and staying on task.
Social skill are another chapter...we have had two play dates with classmates. The little friends want to come back so ...mission accomplished for first step.

That life is whirlwind of dreams and excitement my mind all over and yet always with you my son as I strife and berate myself for my lost patience and longings.
Your future constantly on my mind so I lose sight of the now and here now and then and for that I am so sorry.

...and then you make me laugh at the strangest moments...
What is for dinner...Tortillas your father replies
When is it ready....sooon..your father replies
Ohhh I am so happy ...you exclaim loudly, exuberantly
...and then I am so happy too...how could I not be touched by your joy ...over a diner with tortillas.
I did not know tortillas could bring such joy, and now I know.

He shares with me all the time now. Ideas and funny things he sees.
He gets simple word play and that lifts my spirits...
His sister catches a baracuda in Cuba. He makes a joke..an untranslatable joke  a play with words and I am stunned. I wonder if it was luck...but I have chosen to go with intent.
Language has a great meaning for everyone...for me it is also an identity. We are generally good with words in my family. We translate and write...my father was a linguist, my grandmother wrote poetry. Wit is words. This play with word was a code ...for me it was us...family country identity and roots. We would exclaim over a new unheard word, jokes were word play and a limerick would be made over dinner. And we would snigger at the final line...together
...that family is gone now...my father and grandparents dead and the words gone.

I do not have time for words and play anymore...
We work and fight for words and we cry over the lack of them.
But now I think...Perhaps ..there will be a day to play with words again.
So in spite of dark winter days I am hopeful this month.