Street cred

E: I drew a horse for Kayley today, but then she ruined its reputation by coloring it with markers.

Ode

You gave me a golden day

I met you as the bells rang your freedom

your face at the doors was full of joy

at my unexpected presence

There were only a few steps to take

and the world was glorious

the sun had deigned to grace us 

with an autumnal glow at the heart of winter

so you and I walked instead

We might have been in Oz

you led me by such bright pathways

you dazzled me with laughter

your being demanding exuberance

and all my concentration, all my focus

on your hand in mine

We skipped along the cemented streets

where strangers could distantly observe

only the reflection of this affection

while poetry danced in every sweet angle of your face

I so easily forget the wonder you are

when I'm separate from you for a week, day, moment

and then you smile

fascinate me anew

I could spend my life reaching

for understanding of what I've been given

Your love is so far beyond

what my heart can grasp

So THAT'S how she does it

E and I were having a discussion about his piano teacher the other day, specifically on how he needs to speak up when he is addressing her or answering her questions, because she's (just giving a rough estimate here...) 120 years old and can't hear him when he mumbles. I explained that he also needs to give a firm answer and look at her when he speaks, both because of the hearing thing and because he needs to show her respect because she is his elder.

To which he responded, "She's not my elder. She's someone's elder, but she's not mine!"

I then had to elaborate a bit on the strict definition... "...and that means she's my elder, too.  And Noni and Poppa's."

"<gasp> She's Noni's elder, too?"

"Yes, son, Ms Piano Teacher's probably <insert not-so-highly-inflated-number> years old! How old do you think Noni is?!"

"Well, I know she's old. I just thought I kept her looking young with all our sword-fighting."

I then laughed so hard that he told me "Mom, you're laughing so loudly the eagles will hear you."

Which didn't help.

Talk To Me

My mother is the type of super-woman who wrangles Christmas letters every year, a gargantuan task that I cannot even contemplate. For years, I've looked forward to reading the quirky, unique things she decides to incorporate into her cards.  Every Christmas, I also enjoy reading about the lives of various friends and relatives, and exclaiming over pictures where the children always seem to be at least 5 years older than I think they can possibly be.

My mom and I had a discussion the other day about this particular mode of communication.  She mentioned that her mother, in turn, always jokes about friends who send her Christmas letters, since she says "why would I need this, I know everything that's happened in their lives because we write to each other all year!"  My nana engages in such detailed and frequent written communication that she has stayed in contact with friends over almost seven decades.  But my parents' generation lost the art of letter-writing.  They turned more to occasional phone calls and the yearly letters to keep up with the turning of seasons.

In my generation, even the Christmas letter has fallen by the wayside.  And it's because forms of social networking such as Facebook and Twitter (even MySpace, if anyone uses it any more?) have kept us in such close awareness of each others' lives.  Should we ever think: "I wonder what so-and-so has been up to lately", an instant update is available at our fingertips, in way more intimate detail than we could ever need.  For instance, I'm thinking of some recent statuses proclaiming the extent of cervical dilation ladies are experiencing as they enter the labor process.  I mean, come on, what's next, a live video feed? NO ONE NEEDS TO KNOW THAT.

Sometimes, though, the amount of closeness we achieve via the Internet inhibits us from practicing true relationships.  I know exactly what my best friend from high school was thinking last night as she watched that movie, but I don't truly know how she felt.  I know the public broadcast version of everyone's days, thoughts and dreams, and yet the secrets and depths to the actual person I am friends with are lost.  I am betrayed into laziness by the false reality of a virtual friendship, and more extensive communication seems more effort than it is worth.  And even the minuscule effort I make  (i.e. turning my search engine to a profile...) seems Herculean in comparison to actually dialing a number.

As a whole, people make the same New Year's resolutions year after year: drink less, stop smoking, lose weight, laugh more. This year, in particular, I have heard a lot of people saying they are going to make more of an effort to spend time with their family and friends, try being with them a little more frequently.  I made a similar resolution, but to simply be more involved with the day-to-day realities of my loved ones' lives.

Even if it means I have to write a letter to my Nana.