Strawberries

"Momma says we should give our first crops to other people, Lucy." Jack hitches the refrigerator door open. He reaches between a tub of yogurt and the pot of last night's stew to pluck up a tiny baggie of strawberries. "Now we can share it with Logan and Thad," he says. He unzips the little baggie and squeezes in two mostly ripe berries no bigger than thimbles.

Lulie nods, "Ok."

Jack squibbles the baggie shut and sets it on the yogurt tub. He whirls the fridge closed with one hand. "There," he says. "Come on, Lucy." He skitters out the back door like a tricycle on two wheels.

"Wait for me, Jack." She bobs out the back, a buoy on his heels.

The door clicks shut and I sigh. Joe again in the crook of my arm, me moored on the little black couch, I watch the children spin my words into worlds.





Gratitude:

3246. Jane makes a friendship bracelet. "It doesn't really look very interesting," she comments, "but it is -- like knitting." She weaves an indigo string into place. "If there's enough string in here for two," she adds, "I want to make one for you, Momma."

3247. "Some people leave a lot of food on their plate," Lucy notices. I tell her they shouldn't, and she responds, "Yeah, else they'll maybe DIE."

3248. "Lucy, why are you taking so long washing your hands?" I holler to the bathroom. "I want to wash up around my armpit," she shouts back.

3249. We dry a load of jeans in the dryer, all the buttons and zippers rattle and jangle. "Is that one of Jane's tooths in the dryer?" she wants to know.

3250. "Why did you try making hotdogs?" she asks me later. "It's a lot how I wanted it," she adds, "and a little how I didn't."

3251. She tastes dinner and drawls, "It's ADORABLY too spicy."

3252. She loop 'round the kitchen, through the laundry, into the living room and calls, "I did my extra-cizing five-minutes-a-hour. Mommy, mommy, I did it nine-minutes-a-hour now."

3253. We take the kids to a wedding, the kind where the bride and groom embody pure joy, the kind where the bride and groom have waited and saved themselves for their day. Purity. All seven of us lined up in a pew, we let the children watch, see the real thing.

3254. We eat salmon-melts down on the farm.

3255. The kids practice shooting cans filled with water. They all miss the target except for Lucy, her eye patch still on.

3256. Trader Joe's mini peanut butter cups.

3257. White balsamic vinegar, cold pressed olive oil.

3258. Mom and I visit Rosie's new apartment and soak in all the artful touches.

3259. Hand-me-down shirts.

3260. Myra holds my hand during worship on Sunday and strokes my arm.

3261. The cousins mount their posse of bikes and weave in and out of neighborhood driveways. Cerissa and I visit and enjoy our friendship.

3262. Queso bbq burrito, mango salsa on top.

3263. Grilled carrots with cumin and coriander.

3264. Craig takes note on the kinds of questions I love to be asked and then asks me.

3265. The comfort of complete agreement on a few controversial topics.

3266. I remember again how to stand tall, square my shoulder, and take the day in stride.

A Toast

"First let me just get one thing out of the way." All tuxedo and broad shoulders, father of the groom, balances microphone and notes. He slices the air with his hand, "The thing we're the most proud of with Peter and Rosie," he says, "is that they have relentlessly kept themselves pure until their wedding day." He pauses. "In this world, that's remarkable." Father of the groom gazes at each of us, smiles, eyes earnest. "And so what I'm saying," he sweeps the air, "in case you had any doubt, they have saved themselves for this day."

We laugh; we can't help it. Smiles pull and curl at the corner of our mouths as if drawn up by a relentless spring. Our cheeks round and red, we wait, glasses poised to toast. Bride and groom smile long and wide, wider than all. She sways her shoulders as if the day had rhythm all its own. For just a moment it does; her elbow touches his. They smile and beam and hold the crowd as if the sky itself were open, heavy with blessing. I notice how she leans her shoulder light on his chest and waits.

"I mean think about it," father of the groom continues, "how often does that happen?" He spreads his arms, "We'll just let that sink in for a minute." And it does, a marvel to behold. "You won't regret that," he says. "You'll never regret that the rest of your life." And we toast.

And we dance and dance and watch. We can't take our eyes off them. They capture us, joy irrepressible. We sneak peaks out of the corner of our eyes, try not to stare. While I caper and twirl, promenade and cavort, in heels and barefoot, I sneak closer and closer just to watch, to watch them unfurl the day.

923. Peter and Rosie married -- the promise, the purity, the joy, pure joy.

924. A new sister for me!

925. The sea of family who travel from near and far to celebrate with us and witness with us the birth of a new family.

926. How when I watch Pete and Rose, I see it, every good and perfect gift truly from above, and how it resounds from the hilltops -- worth it, worth it, worth it.

927. That my parents taught all of us kids to cherish purity.

928. It's lavish display at the wedding.

929. New shoes, wedges with gold shimmer.

930. How we dance and dance and Lulie keeps saying, "Dance faster, Momma. Dance faster."

931. Slow dance with husband.

932. How Lulie, the flower-girl, flops in the green grass half through the ceremony but still manages to exit with the bridesmaids and ring bearer on cue.

933. How each of my sister-in-laws is a perfect fit in the family. How I finally have sisters!

934. Shoe shopping and great, great shoe advice from one sister.

935. Rhubarb recipes from another.

936. A book of poems from still another.

937. How we linger with relatives new and old soak in our family.

938. How Janie gathers extra bubbles to make sure Jack and Lulie get some.

939. How Myra Rose sacks out on the dance floor, limp on my arms.

940. How Jack tells me all he really wanted at the wedding was for me to sit next to him.

941. How Craig's parents gather our children and feed them yummy wedding food.

942. An afternoon breeze that rolls in to cool the tuxedo clad men and guests.

943. Husband in a tuxedo.

944. Kissin' him.

945. How the girls and I all wore flowers in our hair.

946. The birth of a new family