A Treasure of Incomparable Worth: Father

Shoulders and calves. Oily scalp and big teeth. Sense of humor and charisma. Eloquence and fetching smile. Temper. Sweet tooth. Optimism and open mind. Intelligence and sophistication. Impatience and obstinacy. Cynosural wit.

My father gave these things to me. Some I didn’t want. Many I will always be grateful for. All of them make me his daughter.

***

She will start out small. Small hands. Small feet. Small smiles in the thick of sleep. She will not stay that way, however. She will grow. And you must grow with her.

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Beauty and Magic and Moments

Saturday Mornings mark a momentous occasion around here: relaxing.

I may work from home, but it’s a lot of work and little play. My Michael is up at 5 a.m. and most days doesn’t return till after 4 p.m. Then, after a hug, kiss, and quick 30 min catch-up, we both make our way respectively to the gym/living room for an hour or so of exercise. The evening draws to a close with shoveling sustenance into our droopy food-holes and catching a 60 minute show before lights out. Well, lights out for M, anyway.┬áI, of course, cannot sleep without Words to quiet the chavish in my head.

This last Saturday, Michael and I partook in one of our favorite activities: finding new music to download. Good music — much like books and movies — is often hard to find, and . . . you have to sit idly through a lot of not-so-good music before you’re rewarded. Noisetrade is an awesome site you can download and sample music for free. FYI.

As we did this, Michael was at my desk, in front of the laptop, and I had perched on the end of our bed. Each time a new song began to play, Michael and I would involuntarily shift toward one another, eyes searching and seeking the other’s face, silently ascertaining how the other felt about the song. This went on for some time.

My angel-pup, Bella, had been fast asleep beneath the folded back layer of our bedspread, curled up with something mommy-scented to sweeten her puppy-dreams. At some point, though, she roused, realizing mommy was nearby and offering the creme de le creme of real-esate; with the subtly of a lightening strike, she bounded across the bed, crawled onto my lap, and wedged herself perfectly between my arms. And, as women often do, while holding small, vulnerable things in their arms, I began to rock from side to side. She was asleep within seconds, and I . . . drifted. The song playing at that point was something slow, but with a firm beat. It settled in the pulse of my heart, changing the rhythm ever so slightly. I let it carry me. Lull me. Take me out of our bedroom, and to a place petal-soft and buoyant and cerulean.

Unbeknownst to me, Michael — Psychologist by day, Photographer by weekend — had slipped a sly hand. Hearing something, or perhaps sensing a shift in energy, I opened a curious eye to find him capturing Bella and I. Our eyes met and he spoke inaudibly:

Don’t move,” his eyes said, plain as our soft gray sheets. I promptly closed my eyes and resumed rocking.

This is Michael’s capturing.

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