Stoppin' by New York City

On the way back home I am getting some time with my Dear Daughter, the Corn Tiger and his Dad here on the East coast. Just can't seem to get enough of that these days.

I think you can see why, non? Even though I talk to them at least once a week on the video phone and the Dad is good about posting a picture or video every week on Flickr, there is nothing that can replace the holding, running after, tickling, singing to, laughing with... the Grand Boy. To say nothing of walking, talking and catching up over tea with his Mom.

You know how it is, they grow so fast at this age, it's hard to keep up. Though, in some ways, viewing the process from the G'ma position does help one to see the details in a way there wasn't time for when you were the one making the meals, washing endless loads of laundry, feeding, rocking, bathing, reading the baby. From the G'ma point of view, we get the chance to the baby grow in a sort of time lapse cinematography, like those Disney nature shows we watched when we were kids. We get to see each petal of the child flower unfold, see the flower turn to the sun of its mother and father.

And blooming he is, the little Corn Tiger. He's walking, running, stepping, climbing, talking and showing a decided sense of humor. All at only 13 months old. Of course his G'ma thinks he's the most advanced boy of his age =o).

More soon.

Baby kisses!

N2

Les Derniers Rayons (The Last Rays)

Often I am in the garrett writing until six. On nice days it is hard to get myself up there

and to keep my butt in the chair. When I've put in my self-imposed goal of hours writing,

I slip my camera into my pocket and go for a walk around the village or out to

the surrounding countryside, chasing the last rays of the sun.

There are wonderful old buildings around here and I love the way

the gold tones of the sunset glance off the uneven surfaces of the old stones.

Fig trees in Spring are simultaneously knobby and fecund, like a young woman

who is ugly and beautiful at the same time. The French have a term for it

une laide belle. One could say that this tree, c'est un arbre beau et le laid

qui a la fécondité d'une femme. If you didn't know better and saw one in

Spring, could you possibly forsee the sensual, fragrant glory

that this small, green fruit will become by the Fall?

I love this house on the lane that leads back to the village - its artful gate,

its green painted timbers, its many shapes of windows, the way its face reflects

the last rays of the sun on its way to the bed sur la plaine du Lauragais.

Soleil écrase baisers!

N2