the third and the seventh

(heard about this on npr... it's all computer-generated, which blows my mind a little bit. architecture as art. i suppose it really speaks for itself, and i feel as though my words are entirely inadequate in attempting to explain it):

love,

j

long time, no see, stranger...

it's been too long. a month, actually. i had just started in my new job last i posted. had a beautiful birthday (went on a sea plane and got a sewing machine!), painted a bunch, and am learning how to teach, and really teach, a class full of 3 to 5 year olds...

but i just want to write about one beautiful moment tonight:

i came home early from work not feeling well, and, after running errands and picking up groceries, i found myself standing at the stove in silence.

when i was a little girl, i remember watching my mom eat. she'd eat standing up (she did everything standing up), and quickly (she did everything quickly). my mom was a waitress, a single mom, a beautiful woman... she was and is and becomes more beautiful every day. my favorite dinner, and one we had frequently, was mac and cheese, especially if we put hot dogs in it. and on special occasions we had velveeta, and she'd let me squeeze some of that amazing cheese right onto my finger and eat it. and somehow, these are the moments i remember more than anything else about my childhood, more than any of the hard stuff. those exquisite, pure seconds of love and quiet and cheese.

so tonight, not thinking about any of that, i put the water on to boil. i cooked my hotdogs, and then, while i waited for the mac and cheese to finish cooking, i sliced them up and ate one right away, dipping it in ketchup and using a little dessert fork. and when the pasta was done, i squeezed the cheese on, saving the last little bit for my finger.

and this is when i had one of those quick, special moments. this was what i remember wanting as a kid. here i am, in my own house, becoming a strikingly similar woman to my mother... and i can eat standing up, and i can go to the store and get mac and cheese and hot dogs any time i want, and i can use the little dessert fork if i want, because, goddammit, it's my silverware. i wish i could thank my mom for those few seconds, but i'm not sure exactly how you thank someone for mac and cheese, and an appreciation of quiet accomplishment. (or, for that matter, the ability to walk very, very fast).

it was delicious.

love,

j