Just more pictures

I was trying to figure out how to do a closeup of my Liatris spicata this morning, when a roaming butterfly came by for a drink. A rare moment of quiet for both of us.

And a "Hi, Granna!" from Lazarus:

Giddyap

Have I mentioned how much I love this camera? Not just because it takes great pictures but because it lets me capture moments like these. Jai and Omar came over yesterday with Cebollah (seh-BOY-yah, Sp. for onion), and Laz took a short ride around the field with them:

A thought

Blair's Blowback, by Gary Younge
From The Iraq Project -- an excerpt of an article published in The Guardian on July 11, 2005

"We know what took place [on July 7th, in London]. A group of people, with no regard for law, order or our way of life, came to our city and trashed it. With scant regard for human life or political consequences, employing violence as their sole instrument of persuasion, they slaughtered innocent people indiscriminately. They left us feeling unified in our pain and resolute in our convictions, effectively creating a community where one previously did not exist. With the killers probably still at large there is no civil liberty so vital that some would not surrender it in pursuit of them and no punishment too harsh that some might not sanction if we found them.

"The trouble is there is nothing in the last paragraph that could not just as easily be said from Falluja as it could from London. The two should not be equated - with over 1,000 people killed or injured, half its housing wrecked and almost every school and mosque damaged or flattened, what Falluja went through at the hands of the US military, with British support, was more deadly. But they can and should be compared. We do not have a monopoly on pain, suffering, rage or resilience. Our blood is no redder, our backbones are no stiffer, nor our tear ducts more productive than the people in Iraq and Afghanistan. Those whose imagination could not stretch to empathise with the misery we have caused in the Gulf now have something closer to home to identify with. "Collateral damage" always has a human face: its relatives grieve; its communities have memory and demand action.

"These basic humanistic precepts are the principle casualties of fundamentalism, whether it is wedded to Muhammad or the market."

More cutie-patootie

And now, a new feature: um, I don't know what I'm calling it yet, but basically I want to occasionally highlight content from the great sites listed over in the right-hand column. So without further ado, today I want to push some good news on a big scary topic that's dear to my tree-hugging heart: global warming.

The Revolution Will Be Localized
from Alternet, July 20, 2005

"Local politicians, from governors to mayors to city councils, have taken the fight against global warming past Washington politics and directly to the people.

"City leaders from around the U.S. were treated to a rare bird's-eye view of the environment earlier this week at the Sundance Summit, a three-day mayors' retreat on climate change hosted by Robert Redford in Salt Lake City and at his 6,000-acre resort nestled beneath Utah's Mount Timpanogos, near Park City.

"...The summit was just the latest in a string of recent efforts to galvanize local action on climate change. This year, at the urging of Seattle Mayor Greg Nickels, more than 170 mayors nationwide have pledged to adopt Kyoto targets for reducing greenhouse-gas emissions. The New Cities project, launched by Madison, Wis., Mayor Dave Cieslewicz (D), has a network of mayors working to implement on the local level the energy-independence proposals of the Apollo Alliance, a coalition of labor, environmental, and other groups that aims to spur eco-friendly economic growth. The Institute for Policy Studies in June launched a Cities for Progress campaign that's pushing for energy security, among other goals."

New digital camera. Wow. WOW.

I managed to catch this lizard, who's a regular in my front garden, with the camera's great zoom (optical, which really counts). It's the Konica Minolta DiMAGE Z10 -- no, I *didn't* get the $500 Canon Powershot S2. For $350 less, I think the image quality is acceptable... this version is Photoshopped down to user-friendly Web size, but the full-size version is amazing. For my amateur stuff, this camera is awesome.

So here are some pictures (finally) of the play quilt I'm making for the kids:



And the kids (this is from my old camera, but I just got around to Photoshopping them):



More to come later -- Laz and Papa get back from camping today (Omar and Jai took them to Bear Trap Canyon overnight), and Maggie will surely be finished being grumpy after lunch and a nap.

Big. Splinter. Ow. Ow.

Okay, okay, I'll wear real shoes outside from now on. I got not one but two big splinters -- nay, spears -- driven into my right foot this afternoon, and not only did (do) they hurt like hell, I no longer have health insurance. Heh. The first one came right out, being a rather cleanly shorn hardwood fragment, but the second one (which came a mere 20 minutes after I cleaned and slapped a band-aid on the first, then put my flip-flops back on to go finish my yard work) -- holy &#^%. It's all out now, all the nasty disintegrating pine fragments, and both holes have been duly cleaned, disinfected, and covered. I used Laz's neon bandages (I asked his permission, and he was happy to oblige), and tonight he said, "Mama has TWO bad owwies on her foot!"

Yep, Mama's a slow learner.

A Vacation at Long Last... Oops.

We went on a Real Vacation for the first time in... I don't even know. It lasted, oh, about two hours. Fun times.

We left June 16 (that's last month now) to visit Antonio's uncle in Albuquerque and then drive further north to our regional Quaker yearly meeting (our first time going) at Ghost Ranch, just past Abiquiu (it was georgia o'keefe's estate). What a spectacular drive, and we'd just finished dinner and were starting to meet cool people (Quakers are very liberal Christians), and Lazarus was already making friends, and then we got a message to call Antonio's uncle, who only knew where we were because we'd taken the time to visit...

Turns out Antonio's father had died and they found him on Thursday -- if we hadn't stopped to stay with the uncle (who's on the other side of the family, but somehow news got round to him), no one would have known where we were, and. Well. That would have been "bad." So we broke off our socializing, ran back to the room we'd just set up, packed it all back up, and got back in the car at 8:30 p.m. to drive north to Denver. I took the mountain shift (deer and elk really do leap out randomly in front of moving cars). Antonio took over once we hit I-25, and we got to Denver around 2:30 a.m. I did mention to Antonio that I'd like to stay in a hotel instead of crashing at a relative's house, and he agreed, so at least we got a few hours' good sleep.

Apparently, his dad had a heart attack or a roving blood clot and died immediately, which I guess is for the best because Chuck always said loudly that if he ended up in a hospital he'd pull out the damn tubes and be a pain in everyone's ass so they'd just let him go. Antonio is kind of stunned (they've always had a turbulent relationship, so the feelings are both intense and mixed), and I'm sad, especially that the kids won't remember him at all and he didn't get to see them this summer. Lazarus sort of seems to understand what "died" meant, since kitty Georgia and dog Chica both died recently, but he and Maggie were both -- how shall we say -- out of sorts, being away from the comforts and routine of home for so long. We had a lot of stuff to take care of and a lot of time to wait, to think, to miss home, to plot an early escape (that was me after the first week).... It was, of course, anything but a vacation, which is selfish of me to feel and write but DAMN it has been a long three weeks.

Home: a ten-hour drive on a cracked tailbone (I slipped down some stairs while cleaning Chuck's house), with a three-year-old screaming out three weeks' of pent-up frustration and a one-year-old feverish with strep throat, in a car that threatened to overheat if I dared to drive over 65 with the air conditioning on, packed to the roof with crap we don't need but didn't know what else to do with (Antonio drove a truck loaded with the rest of said crap). Home: running on fumes between Belen and Socorro because the power was out at the lone outpost along those 40 miles, and thank God for 32 miles per gallon and a sudden tailwind. Home: to a refrigerator full of food that would have lasted just fine over our four-day vacation but -- yeecchh, and to houseplants that actually survived three weeks of drought (8 of 12 made it, anyway), and to gardens that mostly survived thanks to the drip system I'd just finished (just a few plants drowned or seared because I hadn't yet figured out their adjustable emitters), and to a dog who bounded over the fence and leapt onto the car dancing her happy-dog dance when she saw us pull up.

There's no place like home.

The Foot Bone's Connected to the... Oops.

Dear Anna,

We appreciate that you let us stay bare much of the time, that we can feel the sun and the dry air. If, however, you plan to move rocks -- nay, boulders -- please. put. on. real. shoes. Flip-flops are not acceptable shoes here in rattlesnake/scorpion/giant centipede country, period, let alone for moving massively heavy objects. We don't appreciate being crushed, stubbed, or otherwise mauled when the boulders go astray, as they will do after a long day of your relentless efforts (would you just give it up already and live with the dirt, or put in a lawn or something?), and if you're going to refuse us fair cover or an evening of rest on your plush footstool, understand that our throbbing pain will wake you up in the middle of the night.

Please, we don't want to see anymore boulders hurtling toward us. You have shoes. Use them tomorrow and you can sleep tomorrow night. Don't use them, and you can kiss your gardening days goodbye for a month or two.

Sincerely,
Your Bare Brokendown Feet

============================
Dear Anna,

We continue to enjoy these well-aired, no-sweat, fungus-free summer days, and we commend you for ceasing the boulder-moving operations until you can find your left boot. We would, however, like to bring to your attention the hazards involved in sawing large limbs off the several elms that you deem to be partially blocking your garden from essential mid-day sunlight. Granted, we feet are mere props in such an operation -- until you start climbing said trees to get at that one pesky limb hanging over your precious heirloom tomatoes, or tromping over the downed limbs to start hacking away at another one.

Lumberjacks, even pretend ones, wear boots. Not flip-flops. As previously mentioned, flip-flops are not regulation gardening attire, even less so considering that you're hardly "gardening" on these days of unbridled landscape alteration. When will it end?

Consider this your final warning.

Sincerely,
Your Still-Bare Too-Many-Close-Calls Aching Feet

P.S. - Your aching, half-locked-up elbows work for us now.

============================
Dear Feet:

I am in receipt of your letter dated 13 June 2005. I appreciate your concerns and will take them under advisement. Please be assured that I remain dedicated to your well-being and am honored by your tireless service.

Best regards,

Anna

P.S. -- I signed you up for a special new service, which you can access by clicking the link below -- enjoy!

Glad Someone Is Out There Fighting

I've been feeling like an underachiever (nice word for "failure") lately, and although this (below) doesn't help me feel any more successful, it does make my heart glad. This guy John Bonifaz was a high-school classmate of mine, and I'm so glad to read that he's still making (the good kind of) trouble after all these years.

=============================================

After Downing Street: A Resolution of Inquiry

By Steve Cobble / The Nation
June 7th, 2005 12:39 pm

It's not exactly a news flash that the Bush Administration lied to the public before the invasion of Iraq. What should be on front pages, though, is new proof of the Bush Administration's lies brought to light by the previously unknown Downing Street Minutes, recently obtained and printed in the Times of London. (The Downing Street Memo is a transcript of minutes of a secret meeting chaired by Tomy Blair in Britain in July of 2002 to discuss preparations and propaganda before going to war. It was marked "Secret and strictly personal--UK eyes only.")

The Downing Street Minutes are deserving, in the words of constitutional lawyer John Bonifaz, of an official "Resolution of Inquiry directing the House Judiciary Committee to launch a formal investigation into whether sufficient grounds exist for the House of Representatives to exercise its constitutional power to impeach George W. Bush, President of the United States."

Bonifaz, who two years ago took the Bush Administration to court on behalf of a coalition of US soldiers, parents of soldiers and twelve Members of Congress (including John Conyers Jr., Dennis Kucinich, Jesse Jackson Jr., Jim McDermott, José Serrano, Sheila Jackson Lee) to challenge the constitutionality of the Iraq war, adds:

"The question must now be asked, with the release of the Downing Street Memo, whether the President has committed impeachable offenses. Is it a High Crime to engage in a conspiracy to deceive and mislead the United States Congress and the American people about the basis for taking the nation into a war? Is it a High Crime to manipulate intelligence so as to allege falsely a national security threat posed to the United States as a means of trying to justify a war against another nation based on 'preemptive' purposes? Is it a High Crime to commit a felony via the submission of an official report to the United States Congress falsifying the reasons for launching military action?"

As in previous investigations of "High Crimes and Misdemeanors," such a "Resolution of Inquiry is the appropriate first step in launching this investigation."

Bonifaz's memorandum making the case for launching a Resolution of Inquiry is posted at www.afterdowningstreet.org, a new website founded by David Swanson, Bob Fertik, Bonifaz and others (including this writer), together with a broad array of public interest groups that is posted on the web site.

Our memo is written to Representative Conyers, both because he is the ranking Democrat on the House Judiciary Committee and because he has been a brave truth-seeker on this issue and so many others. We support his letter demanding answers from the Bush Administration, signed originally by eighty-eight of his House colleagues; his call for 100,000 signatures to back up that letter; and his plan to go to London to seek more answers.

We have also made contact with several other members of Congress, and we believe that it will not be long before a group in Congress officially calls for an ROI.

Unfortunately, as most Nation readers know, the Downing Street Minutes have only been a story in the rest of the world, especially in Britain. In the United States it is taking much longer for the mainstream to pick up on it, and the issue is still being treated far less seriously than the seriousness of the charges warrant.

Fortunately, the blogosphere has found this new proof of George W. Bush's "misleadership" much more compelling than the mainstream press has; writers like Apian have posted incisive diaries on www.dailykos.com, which regularly covers the story, as has Georgia10 and her friends, who founded the wonderful site www.downingstreetmemo.com.

Despite a slow start, the Downing Street Minutes may have a long life expectancy, and the Misleader of the Pack may yet have to confront the truth.

=============================================

Rock on, John.

Grammar Lesson

Okay, so I'm writing these destination guides, and in researching the various cities, I visit anywhere from 10 to 100 Web sites in a day. Some are very polished, with compelling graphics and excellent prose, some are passionate but kind of clunky, and some are clearly slapped together in the "they say we need a Web site so put something up ASAP" tradition. That's okay; I'm just there to get some basic info and move on. But I do have a pet peeve, and I'm appalled to see it crop up nearly everywhere, even on some of the professionally done sites.

It's not "it's" or "its'" when you're referring to something and its attributes. As in, "carefully restored to it's 1800s grandeur" -- good God, who gets paid to write this stuff, and who signed off on it? Oh, that's right, the real writers and editors all got laid off as soon as the economy got dicey because it's not that important to worry about grammar and its fine points.

R.I.P., Chica

We had to put our dog Chica down yesterday -- she got hit by a car (I assume) and dragged herself home, two days after disappearing, with a shattered hind leg. Even if we could have afforded to get the leg x-rayed and all that, I doubt it would have been reparable. I feel just awful... she was a pain in the butt a lot of the time (she barked a lot) but she was so sweet, and now Lucy (our other dog) misses her something awful.

Chica was an escape artist, see, and would roam the town at will after squeezing under the gate or through an invisible gap in the fence, often with Lucy who would simply jump over the fence and run with her. I tried everything but couldn't keep her from finding some tiny gap to wriggle through, and she was just dumb about streets, and I so saw this coming. A few weeks ago I bought a tie-out to keep her tied up so she wouldn't keep escaping, but it seemed cruel... and she figured out how to slip the collar anyway (a perfectly fitted choke-chain, no less; she'd already ditched four or five collars by then)... We have a big yard, lots of room to run and play, but it never was enough for Chica, and God forbid we try to take a walk and leave her behind -- I'd be ten yards down the street and I'd hear the gate rattle and then here came Chica loping down the street with her tongue hanging out and her tail wagging in big loopy circles. Every time a car came by, I'd have to call her sharply, grab her collar (if she hadn't ditched it yet) and hold her till the car passed, or she'd just stroll out in front of it.

So, yeah, I saw it coming. I feel bad that I never spent enough time with her, doing some basic training and all that. She needed more than I had to give -- she was always a bit insecure (hence the barking, and also some recent snarling dominance battles with Lucy, who's a good 30 pounds heavier) -- and so I feel like I failed her. She wasn't even two yet -- still a puppy, but starting to mature into a good (if rough-around-the-edges) dog. Chica, I'm so sorry. I miss your pretty blue eyes and happy chatty bark, and I miss watching you and Lucy roughhousing in the yard and, yes, chasing rabbits through the fields across town. Happy trails to you.

A few birthday pictures

We had a real birthday party for Lazarus today -- Jai came over (along with his mama and papa), and several of our friends showed up, too. It was a really, really nice day, especially when Papa brought out the little blue pool. Maggie spent a good two hours splashing around and then in the pool, just having a blast. She crashed out before cake time, which to Lazarus is the whole point of having a birthday. All day yesterday and today he chanted "Happy birthday cake! Happy birthday cake Lazarus!"

I think I got better shots with my "real" camera, but here's one of my favorite moments of the day (post cake, post-pinata):



Yesterday we went for a picnic in Water Canyon -- Laz was so excited to be on a picnic, and Maggie tasted strawberries for only the second time, and it was just a perfect evening.



I also finally wrote out Lazarus' birth story yesterday... gee, that only took me three years. I'm amazed at how much I still remember, but I'm glad I wrote it down finally because some of the details were starting to fade. If you really want to read it, here are parts 1, 2 and 3.

And here's a parting shot, from last week when Granna cut Laz's hair. I love this picture:

Three years ago today...

this little person came to live with me:



I still can't believe how fortunate I am.

Another garden update

This'll be a quick update, which is all my gardening warrants these days because it's so piecemeal (moments stolen from my too-precious work time).

Some chickens flew the coop this morning and got at my brand-new purple and yellow bell pepper plants and cucumber hills. I got mad, almost mad enough to pull out the axe and start hacking. And for me that's pretty mad. Instead I swore a holy blue streak, chased the mean ol' rooster around with a big stick, and built up the coop fencing a bit more. They'd BETTER leave my garden alone, or they'll be next winter's chicken stew, all season long. I don't need their eggs that badly.

I picked up four heirloom tomatoes on Tuesday -- they didn't have any of the deep purple or tiger-striped kinds on hand, but these'll do nicely:
-Old German (big, tri-colored streaks, sweet)
-Sugar Lump (very sweet cherry tomatoes that probably won't make it into the kitchen)
-Pink Brandywine (big, smooth but complex flavors)
-Rutgers (deep red, abundant, old-time tomato flavor)

I also bought some lavender plants, which I've put with some established Russian sage plants into what's now a rock garden. Use what you've got, right? Rocks, we got rocks. I managed to refrain from stuffing Mom's CR-V full of plants because I just don't have time to dig, amend, plant, tend. That, and autumn is a much better time to plant perennials. Oh, I picked up some herbs, too, including lemon grass. In California, I stuck a tiny lemon grass plant in my back border and two years later it had become tall, majestic and irresistibly fragrant. I know that won't happen here (and I'll have to mulch the heck out of it and the other herbs if I want them to survive the winter), but it's nice to have some on hand. I was going to create an entire rock herb garden from scratch -- dig the (rock-solid) bed, haul the boulders for the perimeter (15 or so at 50 pounds each... uh-huh), amend the dirt, plant the herbs, and fence it off so the damn chickens won't destroy it -- but, uh, no. Not this week, anyway, so I'll just put the herbs in the final garden bed and be done.

-------------------
Tomorrow is Lazarus' third birthday. Three years ago today, we spent a wonderful Sunday with friends, and although I wasn't due for another week, I had a feeling something even better was coming, and soon. But it was scary getting there. If I have time tonight or tomorrow I'll try to write about it.

Oh

Okay, so I signed on to post pictures, but my little camera is downstairs (and I'm not even sure where its special USB cable is, which explains why I haven't posted pictures in so long, not to mention the just-realized fact that my new upstairs computer doesn't have Photoshop...)

*SIGH*

Maybe tomorrow. Or not -- I'm taking Mom to the airport (*sniff!!* We miss you, Granna!) and plan to kick up my heels a bit -- um, I mean, take care of some essential business and errands -- in Albuquerque, since I have to drive the 200 miles anyway. In Mom's wonderful new car. With the babes at home in Papa's loving care.

I got me some serious road-trip fever now.

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Garden update:

I haven't been able to work on my gardens (yes, I always use the plural; it sounds more impressive) nearly as much as I'd like, thanks to a busy workload (thank you!!), but I've managed to get in some vegetable seeds and tomato plants, and have the veggie garden drip irrigation system all set up except for two (out of six) beds' worth of emitters. (Emitters get the water from the black tubes snaking across the yard right to the plants, and I just got a sampling of fancy-schmancy ones that only a total gardening geek could appreciate...)

Tomorrow (in Albuquerque, where my choices go WAY BEYOND WALMART) I'm going to get four to six heirloom tomatoes (fancy term for really tasty older varieties that haven't had the taste hybridized right the heck out of them) to replace the Big Boy plants (from WALMART) that croaked seven minutes after I planted them. I also plan to take another stroll through Plants of the Southwest, where Mom and I had a lovely time last week looking at native and drought-tolerant trees, flowering shrubs and such. (Their Web site doesn't begin to do the place justice -- the place is just heavenly.)

I also want to take another look at the Imperial Honey Locust tree I've tentatively picked out for the back yard. That is, for that empty stretch of dust and rock between the house and the shed that currently doesn't even sport weeds because, well, it's an empty stretch of dust and rock that the dogs and the child (the mobile one, that is) and other assorted creatures trample endlessly. The plan: put the tree in once fall comes, then landscape around it, outward, to break up said empty space. So this summer (after I finish this big work project, and the veggie garden, and the drip system for that and the border gardens that currently sport nothing much because it's just about IMPOSSIBLE to grow stuff here) I'll start moving rocks and hauling manure back there to get the space ready.

I know, I'm such a glamour queen.
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House stuff:

I love my little house. It's way too small, but it'll do nicely for now, and with a $450 mortgage (yep, one zero, no numbers missing there) I won't complain. Just for perspective, I took a looksie through home prices in my old California neighborhood, where we bought a cosmetic-fixer for just under $170K in late 2000. Wow. A house behind our former home is listed for $355K -- as is, with "untold potential," in a bankruptcy sale. A full 100K over what we sold our house for just over two years ago. That's just insane. Which is what I thought when we sold the house for 90K more than we paid a mere two years after buying it. But this is more insane. The house wasn't that nice.

No, I do not regret leaving Southern California. I miss my (spacious) home there, but geez. My property taxes there would be more than my mortgage here.

Of course, our street there was paved, too.

;-)

"Working" at home

What a joke -- I have two projects due tomorrow, so I've been trying desperately to pick up an hour here, an hour there all week, with mixed success. No mix today. I sat down to start working at 9:30 this morning, after feeding and changing the kids and feeding myself and getting things a bit straightened up, and exactly seven minutes later Maggie bonked her head on something and started howling. Stop, pick her up, console, put her down, endure more howling, try to refocus on "To illustrate Cellerator utility concretely, consider the kMech model for the synthesis of the amino acids leucine, isoleucine and valine within the bacterium E. coli. One important reaction in that pathway..."

The phone rings. Dispatch call, go back to "...in that pathway is the 'ping-pong bi-bi' enzyme mechanism of the enzyme ?-acetohydroxyacid synthase, an enzyme that catalyzes the condensation of one molecule of pyruvate and one molecule of ?-ketobutyrate to form one molecule of ?-aceto-?-hydroxybutyrate." Read twice to make sense of it, start editing to make it readable; then cue Lazarus: "Mama, want a vitamin! Now!" No, you've already had one today. Would you like a drink? (God knows I want one.) "No, want go outside." Go get your shoes for mama. "No WANT shooooooooooes!" (Runs away.)

Back to editing. Boy lets in dog, who sticks her cold wet nose in my belly and then starts barking at cat who is impatiently twining around my leg because the food and water I gave him this morning is now spread all over the kitchen floor, with Maggie in the middle of it. Get up, trip over cat, grab dog by collar and put her outside to Lazarus' shrieks of "WANT LUCY INSIIIIIIIDE, MAMA!," pick up Maggie who's now soaking wet and howling again because she WANTS to splash in the dirty water and eat soggy cat food, park her in playpen, clean up the sloppy mess on the floor (scooting Lazarus out of the way as he stomps around in the water), get more food and water for the cat who is now attacking my leg, retrieve Maggie and change her all over again....

The days, oh, the days.

Research

See, the thing is, my life just isn't dramatic enough.

And the World Wide Web offers endless drama, and the information I need to create or enhance my own personal drama, right at my fingertips.

And I have DSL now.

That said, I'm actually researching a serious topic: developmental delays and learning disabilities. I'm taking a skeptical, cautious approach to the information I find so that I don't get swept away on a wave of panic, or fanaticism. I just want more information, I guess so I can get some idea of what to do next, what to expect, what to think.

I've known that Lazarus was a bit different since he was just over a year old and still wasn't crawling, or even trying to. In one ear I had people sounding alarms -- "he's not CRAWLING YET?!? Well, that's because you hold him too much. Or else something's wrong with him" -- and in the other ear those with kinder intentions (or perhaps just more tact) were telling me that kids develop at their own rate and just don't worry about it.



But I worried. A bit, then more as Lazarus finally mastered crawling around 14 months but didn't try to stand up and walk anytime soon after that.



He turned 18 months and wasn't walking, and that was the line for me -- the development charts say that's the cutoff, see your pediatrician, and by then I'd noticed other things as well. He spoke no recognizable words and made few attempts to speak or to imitate my words. He couldn't seem to hold onto things like a spoon or a cup or a crayon. So I talked to our doctor, got a referral for early intervention, and started him on occupational and speech therapy. He took his first solo steps soon after.



He's done really well, and I'm thrilled to hear him speak his thoughts and express his feelings (even if he's telling me "Lazarus no NEED a nap, Mama!"). He's always been able to "tell" me how he's feeling with his gestures and facial expressions; now we're connecting verbally, too.



Still, I see him with other kids around his age and I see that he's different. He trips and falls a lot. He can climb, but he doesn't seem to know how to jump -- he makes a mighty effort and ends up taking a big clumsy step, and he's so dang proud I can't help but clap. He sort of runs (especially when I'm trying to catch him around naptime), but not freely like other kids. And his words -- my mom says it's like he's speaking a foreign language, always having to translate his thoughts into our language. He speaks haltingly, with feeling but not with ease, having to lay out his sentences in careful blocks and backtracking as he realizes he missed a step.



It's okay. He has always been an absolute delight, very happy and easy-going (well, from about two weeks on) and quick to smile at anybody whose eye he could catch. I don't worry that he's not perfect, that he won't "achieve," that he won't "fit in" -- okay, I do worry about that last one, because I know people can be merciless to someone who doesn't or can't march in lockstep with the pack. Lazarus is not quite three, and about all he's known so far has been the love and praise of family and friends. Like any (decent) parent, I want to shield my sweet child from hurt, rejection, derision... and I know I can't, not forever. I guess it scares me to think about sending out into the world a child who already is a bit out of step. An easy target. Maybe that's why I suddenly want more information -- a thorough evaluation, some diagnostic tests (but no needles!!), some clearer idea of where he is and where he's going. That's mostly for me, to help me understand and get him what he needs, but it might scare me more to find out just how "different" he is.

But if I have to let him venture out into the world, and I know I do, I desperately want to make things easier for him. I guess I start -- and I think (hope) I've been doing this for almost three years now -- by loving him, purely and completely. God, I can't help but do that. Because he is perfect. He's my beautiful, sweet child. As much as I dread loosing him into the world, I can't deny him the wondrous, scary, human privilege of living in it.

Frost heaves

The Daffodils

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed - and gazed - but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
--William Wordsworth

Welcome, Spring. Winter's parting tantrum left us a good 10 inches of snow last Monday and Tuesday, after a week of dreamy sunshine, and a cloudy, unsettled chill has lingered. I know, it'll pass. It always does.

Last week was hard. Damn hard. I had to do things I didn't want to do, didn't know how to do, didn't think I'd have the strength to do, and it wasn't just one thing but a slew of things, all tremendously draining. Tell my husband our marriage is over, and explain why, what happened, what's going to happen next (I hardly know that myself, but since I'm the one who opened this door, I'm supposed to take the lead). Nurse Maggie through a scary two days of illness. Wonder yet again what's the sense of living so remote from civilization, so isolated and vulnerable. Try to cobble together enough work to support us, then actually find uninterrupted time to work, which lately has meant staying up very late knowing the kids would be up by 6:30 or so. Try to figure out what's wrong with my computer, and why the DSL I'd breathlessly anticipated still isn't working after a week of troubleshooting. Thinking about any of it, I start feeling panicky. It's too close, and unresolved, and overwhelming.

Now I have to get back to daily life. Reestablish our routine, focus on work. I have so little energy to do anything. And another upheaval is coming this week as Antonio returns from Denver and tries to start a new life here. I can't do it for him, but I feel compelled to help, but I have to make and keep boundaries. It would be so easy to slip back, to shrink away from what I know will be difficult and perhaps even devastating, and part of me doesn't want to do this even though I know it'll be spiritual death, for both of us, if I don't. "Do what you know in your heart you need to do." Damn easier said than done, that's all I can say right now.

Senate Clears Way for Arctic Drilling

Drilling the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge won't make a dent in gas prices at the pump or break our dependence on Middle East oil. This was really a vote for Big Oil, not for the solid majority of Americans who oppose turning America's last great wilderness into a vast, polluted oil field. President Bush and his Senate allies resorted to a sneaky budget maneuver to get their way.

Now, Congress is one step closer to trading away an irreplaceable national treasure for a few drops of oil that we wouldn't see for a decade or more. If the oil industry can drill in the Arctic Refuge, then no place, no matter how pristine, will be safe. But there is still have a lot of political tundra to cross before this fight is over. We'll keep battling them every step of the way.
--Karen Wayland, Legislative Director, Natural Resources Defense Council (links mine)

Dammit.

March = Big Snow

I had a lovely, manic weekend of gardening in the warm sun -- and I must have known subconsciously that this was coming:



We've got about eight inches, and it's still falling -- I guess we're getting these wraparound waves because it's blowing from the east rather than the west and that always means trouble. But Las Vegas, NM has two feet and counting, so I won't complain. I'm glad I stacked the wood, cleaned up the front yard, and refilled the birdfeeders, though. Not much else to do but watch movies and gaze out the window.