TO RUN WITH WOLVES

September 23, 2014

Serenity
This world is filled
With so much pain
And so much joy pours down like rain.
I lift my arms
And drink it in
And every day begin again.
     Grant me the serenity
     To accept the things I cannot change
     The courage to change the things I can
     And grant me wisdom–that hard bought wisdom–that holy wisdom
     To know the difference
When this world’s love
Meets this world’s hate
Which one will win I cannot say
I can’t control
What others do
I only hope it’s love I choose
     Grant me the serenity…     Words and music by Neal Hagberg

I am meditating as the sun slips above the lip of the horizon.  Breathing in love and light; breathing out the knot in my gut.  I am stronger this week.  But the scouring winds of change still howl.  I’m seeking that place of safety and silence deep down inside; listening for the quiet voice of Spirit.

In my mind I come to the creek in the middle of the forest where I come so often to Listen.  It has always been a green and sunny season here…the water bubbling and tumbling, the tall pines whishing in the wind, soft moss cushioning the banks.  But as the image of my quiet place comes into my mind……it is winter!  Even in the midst of a meditation where my mind chatter never shuts up I feel the lurch of shock at the sudden intrusion of this winter image.  The creek and the little waterfall are frozen; the ground buried under glittering snow; the sky grey and heavy with cloud.  There is a small fire burning.  I feel a second lurch of shock for next to it lies the Wolf who even when I sense his presence in this inner space, normally keeps back in the shadows of the trees.  Only a few times has he come fully into my presence to speak.

My mind chatter goes silent.  I look around wondering what this means.  Stillness, absolute stillness.  I notice that other Beings who are often present in this place with me are absent.  Solitude.  Is this winter image a message that I need to retreat into the frozen stillness between the dying flames of Summer and the new life that will come maybe with the Spring?  It has never been winter in this place before.  I sit by the fire, and look at the Wolf.  He looks steadily into my eyes and places a single word in my mind.  Stasis.

Stasis?  That means a lack of movement, doesn’t it?  Balance, but not necessarily positive balance.  Uncertain, I look up the word in my dictionary app.

Stasis:  1. The state of equilibrium or inactivity caused by opposing equal forces.

Jaw drop.  Light and Dark.  Love and Fear.  Joy and Despair.  Peace and Rage.  Indeed, have I not been stuck between these forces?  And haven’t I indeed allowed the paralysis of fear to keep me spinning in unproductive drama–frozen as it were?

Stasis:  2.  Stagnation of the flow of any of the fluids of the body, as of the blood in an inflamed area or the intestinal contents proximal to an obstruction.

Read: stagnation of the flow of my life–the flow of love, the flow of my creativity–due to the obstructions built of the old energies still operative in my mind and heart; energies that wear away my body’s vitality and cloud my vision with false perceptions because they “feel” true.  Like feeling that the Source of Divine Love and Grace has utterly abandoned me–because I feel lost in the dark with a broken compass (in fact, I have been told repeatedly the way out), because I am without answers (in fact, I have been given the answers that matter in the moment), because one thing after another doesn’t work out according to my definition (or anyone else’s for that matter) of thriving (think tantrum, toddler style).

Ahhhhh…  Breathe in.  Breathe out.

So, this Winter in the core of my Being reflects my current condition–stasis, basically stuck–between Light and Dark, Love and Fear, Joy and Judgment.  My life cannot flow.  My writing cannot flow.  Yeah, well, duh….

There is nothing that I can do but continue to do what I already know I’m to do: release everything made of the old energy of fear and shame, guilt and regret.  Let go of all the dreams I have held in a white knuckled grip, even if letting go means their death.  Let go of my rage and anger and judgment, toward myself and others.

There is nothing left but to open, open up to everything I fear.  Open up to the nameless One, the faceless One Who refuses to be defined or confined to any one culture’s story.  Open to this Love that I long for but resist.

Release and open.  Relax.  Allow.  Remain carefully in the present moment and notice every blessing, notice everything that is imbued with life and beauty.  And be grateful.  Yes, truly grateful for what is in this moment.  Who knows what will come along a few moments from now?  Maybe the very dream I finally released to ride the wind!

A dear friend wondered once why this journey I am on that has taken me so deeply into the Universe that is within me never seems to come to resolution.  I didn’t disagree.  This is part of why I have been so discouraged and angry.  After all the work I’ve done to heal–shouldn’t I be healed already?  Wouldn’t I do more good putting all this energy into doing good stuff out in the world and cease spending so much of it on navel gazing?  For having chosen to set the course of my journey to the learning of Love and the living of Joy, why indeed has it been so incredibly, impossibly difficult for me to live easily from this place?  Having determined to live in a manner that allows me to thrive and therefore will enable me to help those around me and the world to thrive, why does the land of thriving seem no more than a mirage of water in the desert at high noon?

I don’t know.

Maybe it has to do with how prone we humans are to intellectualize so many of the beliefs we profess while not really working them into the skin and bones of our lives.  How much of my “hard work” was mental gymnastics, emotional angst and the gathering of lots of helpful information versus the real action of choosing a different way to respond to the situations I experienced in the moment I was experiencing them?

Or maybe it’s onion layers.  Peeling back the layers and layers of conditioning, of control-freak ego, of deeply entrenched and culturally reinforced beliefs.  Now I’ve come to the core.  Now there is nothing for it but to give way entirely to the Soul within me, “God Inside” as I’ve heard it said.

Both perhaps.

But the Wolf has returned for me.  The first time he came to me he challenged me.  He let me know that I would only be allowed to run with the Wolves if I chose to gather my courage and stand in my strength.  I think he was a little bit disgusted with my wallowing.

Now, several years later he has come again.  He has come to lead me out of this place of Winter stasis.  It is time for me to run with the Wolves.

August 5, 2014

Dear David,

Seven years ago today I stood on a sandy beach of Lake Superior in front of a Circle of family and friends and made a promise to you.  While you held my shaking hands, I said that for as long as I live I will choose to grow in my understanding of Love and my ability to allow Love to flow through me.  I promised that I will never abandon my choice to learn to Love from the deepest place, unconditionally.

I also promised you that always I would love you to the best that I am able.

The God in us was smiling that day even though he may have winced once or twice knowing what lay ahead of us, for such a promise will reveal all the obstacles that are hindering that Love from thriving.  And oh my, what obstacles we have encountered and tripped upon!  What wounds we have suffered trying to find our way!

I told you something else that day on the sandy shore.  I told you that you were like the earth beneath our feet…and I was the water contained within the bowl of you.  Like the Lake, some days I will be serene, or a bit playful; others frenzied and stormy, raging perhaps; others rolling and purposeful.  But always, always, contained within the bowl of the earthen shore. 

Indeed, I have rolled–sometimes right over you as the wave rakes the sandy shoreline.  I have stormed and raged.  Sometimes I have been serene, even playful.  Like the earth, though it’s sandy layers shift about and the pebbles tumble and roll–you have remained, steadfast and strong.

You have watched me keep my promises.  I have never given up my pursuit of that great Love that is the breath of the Creator…that which enables all life to thrive.  I have had to remove a lot of obstacles–release a lot of fear–open doors long closed–forgive.  I have not always loved you well–but I have loved you the best that I was able.  I too, like the great Water I also love, still remain, here, in the bowl of your embrace.

Seven years.  There is something magical and sacred about the number seven.  Among the meanings that it holds is the sense of completion and perfection.  This is our seventh year.  And it is contained within a year of sevens–2014.  We have sensed a shift this year; a shift between us, within us, in the unfolding of our lives–individually and together.  Good shifts.  Shifts away from old energies, old “stuff”.  It feels as though we have indeed completed some very difficult work, individually and together; as though we have sweated and hacked out way through a densely overgrown forest path and find it opening into a luscious meadow with a sparkling stream flowing through.  On one side there is a vista overlooking a craggy mountain valley…some clouds are drifting lazily, a few shredding themselves on the tops of massive fir trees.  There is a root-studded, stony path winding down the mountain along the stream.  There is another winding up the mountain above us.  We have to choose which we will follow.  Down into the fertile valley–or up to the mountain heights?

You like to say, “Life is good and getting better!”  Too often I have rolled my eyes and shaken my head and chosen not to believe you–too afraid that it wouldn’t get better–and not happy enough to honestly declare that ‘life is good’.  But I watched you enjoying your life.  I watched you not get too worried when things were not as we would wish them to be.  I watched your life get better, filling up with many good things that you wanted to experience and do.  Thank you for teaching me that indeed, life is good, and it is getting better.  It will be as good as I wish it to be, as I notice that it is, as I make it.  I am learning from you that it will only get better if I allow it.

You like to say, “Let it go…”  I snarl at you sometimes when you say that because like a fish on a hook, I don’t know how to let go of the damn hook!  In the moment it’s got me and it’s taking me where I don’t want to go!  You repeat, “Just let it go”… I think I’m finally learning what that means.  And I think I’m getting better at recognizing the hook before I swallow it…more adept at spitting it out before it has  me…even at avoiding it altogether!  Aren’t you glad? 

I have learned that to be successful at Love really is about letting it go…letting all the “what ifs” and the “if onlys” swirl away in the stream of life.  Choosing to smile at the morning, choosing to allow love to flow.  Choosing in the afternoon and in the evening to release the expectations and demands, to forgive instead of criticize, to laugh instead of frown, to bless, to embrace.  I am beginning to comprehend in a tangible way that love really is about seeing in you the divine spark of God…the same spark that is in me…recognizing that we are both Beloved…what’s there NOT to love?

Seven years ago today I stood on a sandy beach of Lake Superior in front of a Circle of family and friends and made some promises to you.  Today before my readers, my family and friends, I choose again to publicly honor you, to renew those promises I made to you and to tell you with God and the world as my witness…I love you. 

Happy Anniversary, David.

SMALL BOY HEAVEN
July 30, 2014

My four year old Chicagoan grandson is spending a few weeks with us.  I have always loved roaming the woods and exploring the rivers and creeks that I have lived by throughout my life.  Now I live not far from Gitchie Gummi–Lake Superior–and never tire of the beauty, the power, the blessings and gifts that Mother Earth continues to give us despite our ignorance and abuses and negligence of those same blessings and gifts.  Sharing it with a four year old, though, is like adding frosting to a cake–it just makes it sweeter and more beautiful. 

We have introduced him to many “firsts”.  Riding on Poppi’s motorcycle up the hill to the wild blueberry patch–and picking a bucketful for blueberry zert (desert) and blueberry pancakes.  First ride in a canoe. 

Dropping a fishing line into the water and bringing it back up with a tiny sunfish wriggling on the end of the hook.  Camping–roasting hotdogs and sleeping in a tent and peeing in the woods.  First time petting a live chicken.  First time going to a dance recital and a children’s theater production (as in theater performed by 5 and 6 year-olds). 

This morning it was throwing stones in the creek and clambering over the rocks around the small waterfall in the hills behind our house.  

  
“Wow, this is so awesome!” he says as the canoe cuts through the water and he drags his fingers alongside, creating a mini wake.  He giggles hysterically and jumps up and down when he catches his first fish, a sunny no bigger than my hand.  Always observant, when picking slugs off our granddog Willow’s waterdish in the campsite he examines their ability to stretch and shrink. 

“Chickens have soft feathers!” 

“How does those girls put their legs so high in the air?” he asks about the ballet dancers…

Whispering…”Nonna, is there deer in these woods?  Will we see a baby deer?  Shhh, Nonna…” 

But there are adventures and firsts for grandparents as well.  We learned many new things this week.  For example: upon going into the bathroom one night to get his pajamas on, he announced to everyone that he needed his privacy because no one was to see his private parts.

“You can’t watch me change my clothes because you can’t see my private parts because you know my penis is a private part and you can’t see my penis because it’s a private part so nobody comes in the bathroom. Do you understand?”  He shut the door.

Approximately five seconds later he opened the door, and while standing in the doorway, hand on doorknob, and stark naked, held a conversation with me about what we were going to do tomorrow, etc., etc., etc. Then satisfied with the conversation he proceeded to shut the door and put on his pajamas.

Sequel to this story; Next morning:

“Nonna, I’m full. (4 blueberry pancakes w/ 1 bite left) I’m trying to eat it but my belly says (falsetto voice) ‘I can’t take anymo!'” 

“Are you sticky?”

“Yeah.”

“Go wash up, ok?”

“Ok”

  From the bathroom we received an announcement… “But don’t come in here guys, okay? Cause I’m washing my private parts. My fingers are private parts you know.”

Upon exiting the bathroom all fresh and clean, Poppi and Morgan proceeded to discuss how we could transport ourselves to the blueberry patch for more blueberries….so Nonna can finish making pancakes you see. We learned many new Spanish words for things such as motorcycle, blueberry, and dog. (My native Spanish speaking Colombian niece, Sharon, who is also visiting us, choked on a piece of pancake trying so desperately not to laugh).  One possible mode of transportation suggested by Morgan included Poppi, Morgan, Sharon, and Willow on the motorcycle. Nonna would have to stay home because there’s no more room. Poppi suggests taking the car?

“But that’s bo’ing!” says Morgan.

Then there’s new camping experiences for grandparents.  Morgan had a good night except when in a sound sleep he wriggled completely down inside his sleeping bag and woke up screaming because he couldnt get out.  He was trying to sit up…scared the bejesus out of us; Willow started howling. Once free Morgan immediately went back to sleep and had no memory of it the next morning. On the contrary, I was awake most of the rest of the night.

More adventures await all of us…there are the places he visited last summer when he was only 3 that we need to return to…the Lift Bridge and the Canal Park Seagulls and Park Point Beach.  We also plan to visit Jay Cook State Park to walk over the swinging bridge.  We might take him canoeing up at Thompson Reservoir and have a picnic on an island. 

His visit began with fireworks…15 minutes after his arrival last week the local ballpark set off fireworks which we could see and hear from our house.  We convinced him it was a special fireworks just for him–welcoming him to Duluth.  Willow instantly became his special pal and sleeps right next to his bed each night which he thinks is great and can’t settle until Willow takes her place next to him.  A perfect ending would be a fish fry at Great Grandma Pat’s.  And, if Auntie Sarah makes it home from California in time the thrill of meeting her horse and going for a ride. 

July 19, 2014

MISSING YOUR COMMENTS

Dear Readers,

Perhaps it is because I am not technically savvy and I am not doing something on my blog site that I should be doing.  Or, maybe this isn’t the greatest site to have a blog.  But, as far as I can see, I have 4 Followers.  If you are actually in your internet browser reading this post on my blog page, “Musings from Mary” at http://soulfoodandroses.blogspot.com/, you will see in the right hand column that there is a place to sign up as a Follower of this blog.  It requires you to have a google account, I believe.

Above it is a place you can sign up to follow through your email.  I assumed that you were then alerted when I posted a new Musing.  Evidently, you actually get sent the posting into your email inbox.  If there is a place for me to know who you are, I haven’t found it yet.

This morning my mom mentioned that she had replied to the Musing I posted on Thursday.  She had replied to my Musing that was in her email inbox.  I never received the reply or any alert that one had been made.  Nor are there any “comments” on the actual blog site at the bottom of the post.  This got me to wondering if there have been others of you unknown readers who have sent comments/replies to me that I never received and know nothing of?

I will get some technical assistance to see if I just don’t know how to work with my own blog site.  🙂  But, in the meantime, my apologies if you have sent me comments and wondered why I never responded in turn.  And gee…I wish I’d received them!  Until I can figure out this glitch, I would encourage you to post any comments at the bottom of the Musing post in your internet browser…sign up as a Follower and not just through email so I know who’s reading my stuff…and, if you wish, contact me directly with comments through my personal email, NOT by replying to the email that Blogspot sent you with my Musing.

Thanks…

I send love and blessing to each of you!

Mary

P.S.  If any of you are chuckling because you know exactly what I am ignorant of and can help me rectify this…PLEASE DO!  🙂

July 15, 2014

GUILTY AS CHARGED

She recommended I read the book, Delivered from Distraction, about Attention Deficit Disorder.  Just the name of this type of brain-wiring disturbs me with labels of “deficit” and “disorder”.  Labels aside however, I realize with just a quick scan that though undiagnosed, my husband is living inside the ADD textbook.  This is information that will deliver me from “crazy”.  It will also challenge me at the core of my own “brain-wiring”.  The first time the possibility of my husband being an ADD dude was suggested our marriage was beginning to come apart at the seams.  I read enough for it to save our marriage.  But that was some years ago and the details of information fade over time leaving only impressions.  And fundamental wiring resets back to default mode and…oh my.

Shit hits the fan.  Regularly.

Walls go up.  Trust wobbles.   Old tapes start up, repeating old beliefs about value and worth, tangling up the past with the present.

So she tells me to read.  She recommends the book.  I get it from the library.  I scan the chapter titles and turn to the one about the mates of those with ADD.  And I read:

“…tend to fall in love with, live with or marry someone who is controlling, critical, demeaning, belittling and very well organized…”

OMG!  He did!  I am sweet and kind, loving and altruistic.  Sometimes.  I am also a perfectionist and value excellence, organization, beauty and cleanliness nearly as much as life itself.  I have a brain that can scan a scene and see every nuance of everything that might matter–from the dirt in the corner to the crooked picture on the wall, the moods of the people and the way the room is arranged and decorated–the beauty and the base.  I also have the ability to consider the big picture of a situation and quite quickly comprehend what is needed to fall into place and very possibly by when if the goal is going to be achieved.  I am intense and quiet and serious much of the time.  It has been quite a journey to learn to relax.  When those around me don’t value excellence and perfection, or whose disorganization and mess impact my life, my space or my plans, the flip side of my sweet and adorable self rears up; what did the book say…controlling, critical, demeaning?  Yeah.

Because I am also an Aquarian 4 on the Enneagram personality profile, (which by the way means that life should be perfect and beautiful and organized and artsy-fartsy and after all, is really all about me) so when I’m frustrated and feel disempowered or helpless I’m wired to resort to either deep depression (anger turned inside-out) or rage (anger turned right-side-out)…all that controlling, critical, demeaning, frustrated, exasperated, confused, bemused energy flung at the target with the energy of a pro-pitcher…bullseye.  Home-run.  Whatever.  You know what I mean.

“…what they really need is someone who sees the best in them and helps to bring it out.  They need someone who sees more positive in them than they might see in themselves.  They need someone who loves them for who they are.”

Yes.  And not just need.  He deserves to be loved, unconditionally, for who he is–the wonderful admirable qualities–of which he has many–and the other stuff.  Don’t we all need this?  We all screw up.  Even us perfectionists.  Maybe especially us perfectionists.  We all desire to be known truly and fully and loved for who we are.  But our culture conditions us from the time we can toddle that love comes with price-tags and conditions.  There are rules to be followed.  Break the rules, lose the love.  Don’t pay the piper, the song is silenced.  It is no surprise that the young people I work with when asked what the Golden Rule is most often respond quite confidently, “Treat others the way they treat you.”

Long ago I set an intention to put my feet on a path to learn to love–deeply, truly, unconditionally.  As I have walked this path, I have discovered that “nice” isn’t enough.  Nice is like frosting; it can look good, maybe taste good, but can be covering over cake that is inedible.  Nice doesn’t have to be genuine.  Love does.  I’ve also learned that forgiveness and appreciation are key to genuinely loving both the folks at home–which sometimes are the most difficult to love without condition–and strangers on the street and corrupt political leaders and cruel men and women out in the world who seem to care nothing for the misery they create.  It’s easier to find forgiveness for and send blessings to some corporate CEO I’ve never met than my husband who found more interesting things to do than the tasks that he promised to get done 3 months ago…five years ago…uh-huh.  I can curse the CEO knowing that the negative blast of energy I’ve discharged does nothing to help the situation and probably contributes to the dark juju spreading through our world.  Oh well.  But curse my husband and I can see the tear I’ve made in the fabric of his spirit–the wretched unraveling of the seams of our relationship–the heavy energy I’ve created in our home; the wound I’ve made in my own heart.

As I’ve walked this path it takes me higher up and deeper in.  I discover the roots of old things in my heart that prevent love from thriving.  Wow are they stubborn to remove!  I find toxic waste dumps in my psyche where I learned to store the anger and hurt from a lifetime.  Removing that has taken time and care and persistence.  I am learning that I must forgive myself and love myself before it ever can really work to forgive and love another person.  That lesson is sticky.

I’ve also come to understand that loving someone can be as simple as making a choice in the breath between the seconds of stimulus and response.

“Between stimulus and response, there is a space.  In that space is our power to choose our response.  In our response lies our growth and our freedom.”  – Viktor E. Frankl – Man’s Search for Meaning –

And sometimes, love is as easy as smiling.

Smiling is like turning on a faucet…humor and love and happiness begin to flow.

I’m practicing smiling.  I find it makes being cranky more difficult.  

May 7, 2014

THE VERY IMPORTANT SMALL THINGS

I look into his large brown eyes.  Someone very much alive is looking back.  He doesn’t have language yet, at least not people language.  Yet, he is thinking—something.  The corner of his little mouth turns up without breaking the rhythm of his sucking.  His eyes smile.  I feel sweet, untainted  love radiate from his squirmy little body into mine.  The bottle empties.  He lets go the nipple and sighs.  Then he squeals and grins and kicks his pudgy little legs.  I lift him up for burping.  He stands sturdily on my thighs.  He is all of two feet high, maybe.

In another five weeks I will be gone–swept back to the Northlands to my little house and my woods and my Great Lake.  Back to my solitude and my writing.  Back to gardening and kayaking and camping with my husband.  For now, I am my grandsons’ nanny.

I have been here now for seven weeks.  It is the most intense lesson I have had in being present, living in the Now.  I have friends traveling in Europe.  I have a friend who went sailing in the Caribbean.  I have a friend acting in a play.  I have friends working hard at teaching and politicking and doing all manner of important work.

I make breakfasts and dinners and do up the laundry and sweep up the floors and blow little noses and change dirty diapers and play “Fight the Goblins” in the park with a four year old.  When asked, “what’s going on in your life?” I’m not sure what to say.  Today I made bread and took a walk through the neighborhood with the baby and chatted with the local drunk who wished me a wonderful day and found a little vase for the fistful of dandelions my four-year-old grandson brought to me.

About a year and a half ago I took on a part time job as a nanny to bring in some supplemental income.  I hadn’t provided regular, hands-on “mommy care” for babies and pre-schoolers for a very long time with the exception of a few weeks here and there with my grandson.  A few weeks into the job I had a self-worth crisis.  After changing a poopy diaper and then trying to carry a very fussy, very heavy one-year-old around, I kept thinking, “What am I DOING here?!  I should be teaching!  I should be providing consulting services to some organization or school!  I’ve “been here, done this” a LONG time ago!”  I felt angry and small.

It got worse, or rather, I got worse.  I began to engage in vicious games of “If Only I’d…” and “Compared to Her”…  One afternoon as I rocked the fussy child to sleep, something inside me broke open.  I cried.  A soggy, smelly mess of nasty, old, mouldering energy poured out, toxic junk from a long ago time when I didn’t feel like I was of much value “just being a mom”.  I had tried to be the best mom I could, of course, but I don’t know that I collected any gold stars or honors certificates; certainly not any mother-of-the-year trophies, which to me, at the time, meant I’d not even managed to be very successful even at “just being a mom”.  I watched the sleeping child in my arms.  “Who are you?” I whispered.  “From where did you come?  Why did you come?  Maybe I am caring for a child who will grow up to be a great man and who will do really important work in the world, I thought.  What are you here on this Earth to do?  What gifts have you brought?”  In this little human body is a great Being of Light trying to come to terms with being human, I thought.  A Being constrained by time and space and the human growth cycle and experience–for now, at the mercy of his caretakers.  Perhaps this Being, outside of the time and space we both have incarnated into here on Earth, is my Teacher, a great Master, a Leader…

The longer I thought about this, the more humbled I felt.  I knew what a privilege it is to do this work of service–caring for the small ones.  Whether they are our own children or someone else’s doesn’t matter–we are all one, all connected, all individuated aspects of Consciousness, or as Einstein would say, Universe.  But I think I had only known this in my head.  That afternoon with the golden haired little toddler my heart opened and let the fullness of this truth into a space it had not been able to reach before.  The rest of my time at that job I felt honored and important and regarded my work as sacred.  I was greeted warmly when I arrived and sent home with kisses and repeated goodbyes and I love yous, no less valuable for coming from a 2 and 6 year old than a grown-up; my work no less important than that of a professor in front of a packed lecture hall.

Now, 18 months later, I look deeply into the eyes of this beautiful three month old grandson of mine.  My heart fills up and my breath catches as I open up to this privileged time learning to be so very Present.  My to-do list and my early morning meditation spent visualizing my ideal day is sure to be adjusted several times over. This is where I get to be today.  Here with these children.  Taking time to watch the ants build a home in the cracked sidewalk.  Teaching a little boy how to pick a flower by the stem, and hold his shirt sleeves in his fist when putting on his jacket. Rolling on the floor giggling as we invent new things “the fox says”; telling stories “with my mouth” (i.e. made up ones).  Today the baby discovered his toes.  Last week he giggled.  The week before he discovered he could do all kinds of things with his voice.  I get to witness these discoveries.

Some day perhaps he will win a Nobel Prize for some other discovery and perhaps if I am lucky, I will get to witness that as well.