Isaiah was my third gamer on Thanksgiving morning for snow portraits. He, in fact, had me up at sunrise wanting me to join his predawn sledding. I would love say that I threw on my snow boots and joined him out back, laughing all the way down the hill. That would be a lie. I’m not particularly fond of the cold, especially before my morning cup.
I can celebrate this . . . I threw on my long warm coat and my bedroom slippers, went out onto the patio and shot Isaiah in his glory. He had a blast trick riding for me. Then he came inside, made hot chocolate and downed two banana crumb muffins. All before 8.
Isaiah at nine is a joy. He is meticulous with his school work and his diligence is humbling. He’s earned his “belts” for learning a whole cadre of songs on his recorder playing Amazing Grace every morning. He is enjoying a new season of basketball and loves to play sous chef in the kitchen.
I feel a little like I’m writing for the Dating Game. Don’t judge. I am journaling here, focusing on the good. All of us here at 64 Blue Swallow are a tapestry in progress; a myriad of unorganized tangles of color viewed from the rear, but a burgeoning piece of art viewed from the front, squinting. Many days I don’t even see the front. Yesterday, in fact, playing Rummy 500 around the kitchen table was downright ugly at moment and made me wonder if they’ll ever be friends. That’s one reason I love photos . . . they don’t talk back.