So I haven't even taken a shower yet...but living with a child is so damn much fun. When you have a kid like Bodhi, whose enthusiasm is contagious, you find yourself doing things you had no intention of doing with the joyful abandon of a former time...a time when playing was the reason for living and "busy" was a ridiculous invention of adults. The boxes were just lying around, waiting to be recycled, and that bubble wrap was begging for purpose. So here you have it...a fort and robot for protection in no time. As I walked in the house ready for some shampoo, Bodhi hollered, "MOM you forgot something!!! It needs a doorbell!" Of course it does, but that will have to wait until mom is bathed and fresh. Unless Bodhi figures something out sooner, which could bode disaster for my Tibetan bells or any number of potentially repurposed treasures.
Yes, I know it doesn't look like much. It was only about 5 inches in diameter and 8 feet tall. The root ball was no more than 3 feet deep. But it was a sweet red-bud tree that we planted the year Bodhi was born, his placenta was buried in it's roots and like many of the trees in our neighborhood, it died (see this post to understand why) . I can't say that I mourned its death in a tangible way, rather it produced in me a sort of unnameable melancholy. I am a woman who loves the spring. I nearly live for it. When the first signs of life emerge like a haze of hope, I drink in green with the passion of a desert crawling woman sipping at an oasis. I gorge. This year has been hard. Our neighborhood isn't leafing out in native splendor, instead the tired trees seem to begrudge the effort, only offering a tender shoot or bud occasionally. The north side of many trees appear to have given up all together, too tired after a long winter...
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