Fourteen

Today August turned fourteen months old.
To celebrate we did some finger painting.

Dandelions

Two weeks ago or so, August and I were outside and I picked dandelions and showed her how to make wishes.  She smiled and giggled as I'd blow on them and pointed out the little white puffs flying off. I didn't think they made much of an impression, she became distracted. Something for later, I thought, when she's a bit older.  On Saturday night, under the full moon, Jacob picked a dandelion and was about to  show August it's magic when she surprised us all by blowing on it! Dandelions became even more special that night.

In fact, August makes so many things  I don't even want to like, special. Take for instance, this backwards, little town in Oklahoma where she has spent half her life now. It isn't a place I want to hold close, however, I know I will fondly recall it because it is where August learned to walk, talk and where we celebrated her first birthday. There are notches on the doorway in the bathroom where I dug my nail into the wood to mark her growth. I do it while she waits for her bath to fill and when I think she has stretched a bit. She has grown 2.5 inches since we arrived. I will miss this house when it is time for us to get back on the road.

August Time

I have been living with a baby for close to fourteen months now. Still, every morning I am shocked [for all of a few seconds] to find a baby in my bed. This evening the three of us played together in her playroom, around the huge box that has become her little house. It has two doors and a skylight.  Her Papi made it for her. She takes her stuffed animals and baby doll in there.  I have found her sitting quietly in it, slowly turning the pages of her favorite book.

This evening, Jacob and I knocked at her door and she came out. We were her guests. She offered us something to snack on from a plastic cup. Then she brought out her Fisher-Price television to entertain us. We each had an instrument to play along to London Bridge and Row, Row, Row Your Boat. After that activity she brought out her pail of shapes for us all to play, then a book. Jacob and I were in constant amazement of this tiny hostess with the precocious gestures. Who is she?



















Almost every morning we sit outside and admire our little rose bush. We begin with smelling the new roses, something August now does with any flower she sees. She will pluck the roses pull the petals apart and look at each one before putting them in her mouth or shoving them through the space between the boards on the deck.  Our rose bush doesn't seem to mind and gifts us new roses just about every day.

























I try to spot butterflies and when I do, I quickly point them out to her. I keep hoping a butterfly will visit us one day and want to dance around us.  I want August to spend some moments with one. We read about them, see pictures of them and she has one I made for her hanging in her playroom. Real butterflies are just too swift or just out of view.

She comes up with little dances, new ideas for empty boxes and she will melodically string every sound she can make into a song.  She is delightful. Who is she?

Mr Gage

This afternoon I received news that my good friend Mr Gage had passed away a few days  ago.  He was 100 years old, he still lived at home, he still had plans. He lived a long life, had many adventures, met awesome people... Still, his void on earth is felt.  Mr Gage was awesome, a dear friend who just cheered me up being in his presence. He exits leaving me wanting more because people like him are rare. I am reminded of how he felt about encores, "Rude", he said encores are rude, we must appreciate the show and be happy and satisfied with that.

I remember visiting him before I left Austin. It was a nice, long, relaxing visit and we spoke of things past and present. He made me fresh lemonade and I watched his hands at work, squeezing the lemons to make me lemonade. I wondered how I would do without seeing him every other weekend, sometimes every weekend. If he were to pass away, I thought, would I ever know or would I find his home razed when I came into town again, to make room for the community college parking. I hoped someone would contact me and that happened.  I appreciated it, greatly.

His art studio had such a youthful energy, perhaps youthful is the wrong word. It had a strong energy and I loved it when we got to hang out there. Off the studio was what he called a European style guest room. It was a small room and bath and it felt so cozy, familiar and safe.  One day I said to him that his studio was very sexy, definitely a sexy place. He laughed and said, "Well, then we better get out of here!" We both laughed so hard. So often he would say something that sent us both laughing for several minutes. Then weeks or years later we'd recall the conversation and laugh for minutes all over again.

I took many photos of his house and possessions and him. I recorded things he said too. This is a snippet from a conversation we were having about old film stars. It was one of our favorite things to talk about.  I tried not to laugh and ruin the recording but it was hard not to chuckle. Our sense of humor just clicked.

Our last conversation was over the phone a month ago. I am upset that I cannot remember it word for word. We laughed though and I remember his laugh. I remember all our other conversations, I don't know why I can't recall much from just a month ago. I did tell him I loved him and I missed him. I do remember that.