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C is for Childhood, anointing purity thereof

Granddaughter holding grandfather, Hayward, CA.

A month’s daily output here has been dramatically interceded upon by a marked jolt to my Pops’ biographical timeline, in the form of another stroke. He has surprised us by being the proverbial Eveready bunny after past setbacks.

Not so, this time.

This afternoon, my daughter took his hand in hers (first holding it alongside my hand, and then taking it into both her own). For minutes upon minutes on end, she stroked the back of his hand, and then his forearm. Put her soft-soft nine-year-old girl cheek against his hand. All the while, smiling at him radiantly, deeply. As if she knew something he and I didn’t quite.  We both looked on in wonder.

(By way of explanation to the children: “Think of DadDad as a magnificent castle, and room by room –  sometimes a whole wing at a time –the lights are going out.”)

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There she lies

There she lies
Turning nine before my very eyes
Turning nine before my very tired eyes
Effortlessly, in her sleep
Bigger now than she has ever been
Yet half the age she’ll be when she leaves home.

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Scientific method

Watching the kids rummage around our backyard this past Sunday as they tracked down a few dozen plastic candy-filled easter eggs put me to mind of my daughter’s insatiable and scientific curiosity, as witnessed in her science notebook.

Below are notations made by her sometime last year, ’round about two months after Easter. I think they speak quite well for themselves.



This year they found all but one egg. I quiver in anticipation.



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Multicolored Monday

Girl reading in her aerie, Berkeley, CA.

Now we see her, now we don’t.



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Girlie, post-bath, Berkeley, CA.


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Afternoon walk, Soda Springs, CA.


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Late to the NaPhotoPoMo party

Afternoon stroll, Soda Springs, CA.

Who’s going to be a grown young man before I’m ready for it? He’s going to be a grown young man before I’m ready for it. Five, going on really no more than six, most days. Saints be praised.

And yes, I’m late to the NaPhotoPoMo party, but when should that stop a gal from coming to the party at all? NaPhotoPoMo meaning, to me, National Photo Posting Month, my variation on NaBloPoMo, or National Blog Posting Month.

I’ve been busy helping get this really fantastic online community Lesbian Family back in gear (which gear seems to be “high”!), and thus have left the light off over here for much longer than usual, even in my work-smacked heyday. Do accept my apologies. But better my blog silence be due to being happy-busy at a project at the epicenter of my passion and joy than due to being in an inconsolable stupor due to breath-knocked-out-didn’t-see-it-coming-job-loss, sez me. Which the silence, had it occurred a month or so earlier, could very well have been.

Interesting thing is, what I dove right into, when I no longer had a job to dive into every day and most weekends, was life with my kids again. Which I photographed.

So I have plenty of images to post here for the rest of the month. A documentary of the restoration of my daily hands-on family life, actually. Not sure if I’ll pull off doing two a day and thus, by the end of November, retroactively, sneaky-like, managing to have averaged out “a post a day,” the rallying cry of NaBloPoMo. Time will tell. Meanwhile, thanks for stopping by.


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That’s what she said


Me Myself and I, 3rd grade school assignment, Berkeley, CA


Back-to-School night was a few weeks back. Now that both kids are at the same school, we were busy:  two classrooms to case, two teachers to whom to introduce ourselves/ our family make-up/ our family nomenclature/ etc., two clumps of curious parents to which to introduce ourselves.  Our divide-and-conquer strategy was hampered by the familiar Mama will need to extirpate herself from the theater and won’t be able to be there for the whole shebang thing, magnified my wobbly stumbling in the wake of my recent unanticipated job loss.  Outgoing Presidents and Presidents-elect have over two months in which to effectively transfer and assume power, and I am thinking Mrs Dad and I are going to need at least that much time to re-shape our family rhythms now that I’m back in them again.  Meanwhile, there’s the frequent backing into each other in the kitchen, and the simultaneously uttered “I thought you scored the babysitter for tonight!”

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