Yesterday morning I dropped Orion off at daycare. He was excited. They've been spending their mornings-- singing their songs and reciting the alphabet and reading flash cards-- all while splashing around in a circle of wading pools. He's picking up words. In the grocery store he'll excitedly shout out 'fish', or 'water' or 'milk'. We've been reading together at night. Pretty soon he'll be making sentences and by then, linear thinking will have set in and his other processes will be lost. The world will seem a more predictable place to him. Cause and effect.
On the other hand, books will become much more than objects.
They will be larger inside than out, places he can step into at will.
Doors close, doors open.
I picked up Ben, who was treating me to the day's first showing of War of the Worlds. We hit a thrift store on the way. I found several hard covers in beautiful condition each for one dollar:
Angela's Ashes by Frank McCourt
Darkness Visible by William Golding
The Hidden Life of Dogs by Elizabeth Marshall Thomas
Driving Blind by Ray Bradbury (I already have, but will be nice to give)
Blue Afternoon by William Boyd
and a book for Aubrey---Making Movies by Sidney Lumet
We sat in the darkened theater, enjoying the anticipation, almost like waiting in line for the roller coaster. You hoped the ride would be good. You could only go once, for the first time. (I'll be seeing this one again on Tuesday, with Aubrey.) I wondered what kinds of movies she'd be seeing as an adult, and what might be on screen when Orion is older. I wandered, for a minute into the possibility that things would be changed and there wouldn't be theaters all over showing films that cost millions of dollars to make. Things could go very bad, very fast. I think of that line in "Road Warriors"...."remember lingerie?" Oh, I hope not. The larger view can be daunting.
Maybe these thoughts are products still of the recent earthquakes. Maybe it's my haunting pessimism----things have been going well for us in America for a long time now. Too long? I'm not planning to go around worrying about things I have no control over, like earthquakes. Maybe it's because we live in a desert, thinly contained by artificial means. Maybe it's because it's summer, when we are acutely aware that both adults in this household are self-employed artist types, skimming by.
But mostly I think it's because Phillip got his deployment orders for Iraq in September and I am brave only by reminding myself that I am no different from thousands of other scared parents.
I can never seem to escape the feeling that we all live in a house of cards.