TIRED and looking for a PLACE to address some basic needs – SLAKE my thirst, fill my belly – I land in a small restaurant in a glitzy shopping mall. These places that I would not consider at home, become possible perhaps even attractive when traveling. I have no trouble deciding on a bowl of ramen, noodles and broth sound comforting. A man approaches me and asks if he could help me – befuddled I say no, and then realized too late that he worked there. I BLAME my misunderstanding on the fact that he is dressed in ordinary clothes, nothing indicating his status. Fortunately, he takes no offense and returns to take my order. Relief that I will soon have a bowl of deliciousness in front of me, I allow my mind to turn off for a moment, and slump ever so slightly in my chair. I rest my chin in my hand, and look without seeing, staring at my reflection in the GLAZE coating on the table top.

Georg’ann

I felt the push and pull, the way it is when one becomes part of a CROWD. Hard to TEASE out individual from collective energy, we all are swept up. Bodies, voices in unison. No BLAME in falling off the spiritual PLANE for a bit in the midst of the game as we boo the refs and the pep crew jeers the other team. These final minutes of the championship game are too tense. Later there will be no memory, it will all be a GLAZE. No conscious thought functions in such a surge of adrenaline.

Heather

I miss the birds who PERCH outside my window. I miss them flying ABOUT, their sweet songs filling the air. I know that when we get home the flowers – from DAISY, rose, snapdragon, and more – will be gone for the season. But it will not be dead and boring. As we enter the FINAL days of our trip, I look forward to returning to the winter antics of the squirrels, NINJA-like in their leaps and struggles to steal from the bird feeders.

Georg’ann

I was GIVEN gifts
Took time, developed my skill
Now, NIFTY NINJA

Heather

You stomp and mutter, tension radiates off you like heat from a fire. I TWINE myself into knots, picking up on the stress and wishing that I had a magic wand for you. You are more dear to me than I can say, and if being THERE for you could fix it, then surely I have done so? But I know it is not enough. I will not stop trying – I unclench my jaw, relax my shoulders, hoping that you will feel the shift in me and translate it into lowered tension in yourself. Just know, my dear, that I would not TRADE a single moment for anything: not for less stress or less tension. You are worth it all.

Georg’ann

Curve in road AHEAD
a steep GRADE too, feel caution
Cannot TRADE places, go

Heather

We used a FABLE to PAINT a picture of the day the MANIAC succumbed to his MANIA. Everyone found it very instructive.

Georg’ann

Looking out the hotel window, 4th floor
top floor, watching the sun rise
up and out of the horizon,
where an empty field meets the Wabash River.
A small, vivid band of color
slowly spreading like watercolor.

Closer in we watch traffic pick up
in the McDonalds drive-thru across the parking lot.
Amused by a state trooper in line.
We guess he likely gets the egg McMuffin.

My eyes wander to the STAIN on my shoe, a drip of blood.
In which I now see a gritty crime story unfurling,
the PANIC in the scene as MANIA settles into reality.

“I counted! 15 cars in the drive-thru
and 7 Fed Ex trucks getting gas.”
pulls me back into another storyline.
One in which a woman and child sit side by side
on a fluffy white comforter, feet propped up on the air system,
unhurriedly watching a tiny square of the world start it’s day.

Let me write tender slice of life scenes
from the Holiday Inn Express on Joe Fox Lane.

Heather

She walked down the street, striding forth in a way that made clear her right to CLAIM the space. She was surrounded by the grotesque capitalist distortion of sex. No prude she, but the air was thick with threat. The further she walked, the more she could feel it: that horrid possibility of victimization, a vulnerability that she could only ABHOR. Her best protection was to make clear that she was self-contained, her own AGENT, independent and focused. Eyes forward and looking slightly down, communicating an ARDOR only for moving forward in space.

Georg’ann

Yet AGAIN, going ASKEW
ADAPT myself anew,
wrapped like a vine on an arbor
-woe, theses contortions of ARDOR

Heather

G’a:
Awakening in a different bed, I SWEAR that I will make an effort to be in the present. Let’s begin this second half of the trip with a CLEAN and fresh start, even as part of my heart wants to PLEAD a retreat into self away from the challenges of travel. But later, we drive past a field. Against the GLEAM of the afternoon sun, the sheep BLEAT in the field, their white bodies contrasting with their surroundings. I soak in the peaceful pastoral scene, adding it to my repertoire of images from our journey, protection against the coming BLEAK winter months.

This is part of the trade offs of travel, balancing challenges with comfort, testing edges with playing it safe. Stretching myself, so that I have increased resilience.

Georg’ann

Will weather SPOIL the fun?
Slow the costumed parade?

Snap came the cold.
Flicker went the FLAME

CLEAR, stars shinning bright
outlook not so BLEAK

Crinkle came the candy
Smash went the pumpkin

Heather

The paintings have a sameness about them: endless rows of holy women CLASP their hands to their hearts, eyes raised as they EXALT and glorify God. Countless saints fall to knees on LOAMY soil, preparing to BRAWL with demons and dragons. All focused on a Holy GRAIL, to be worthy, to overcome essentially sinful human nature. I speed up my steps, uncertain that I can take one more Madonna with a still and expressionless face, one more oddly mature baby Jesus, weirdly proportioned. I rush forward in time, looking for secular, messy, more human-than-God art. I want to see well-fed Dutch merchants, glorious still-lifes with rabbit carcasses and snails, fishwives displaying their wares, rosy-cheeked Bacchus offering grapes with a seductive smile.

Georg’ann

Sitting with is the LEAST,
and the most, we have to offer.
Make no CLAIM, no FRAIL attempt
to present a gilded GRAIL.
All that is holy is right here,
me with you, you with me.

Heather

If you were BRAVE, you COULD wander out in search of a GHOST. I want to look for the sort that make doors close, turn lights off and on, makes eerie music play from non-existent PHONO devices. You know, the kind that make your hair stand on end and run fleeing down the hall when the house is deserted. Real ones, not the PHONY kind. What do you think?? I am game to show a little courage this Halloween. Want to hunt some ghosts with me?

Georg’ann

On the COURT bounce, bounce
POISE as you jump, turn, and swoosh.
No PHONY, real deal!

Heather

Closing her eyes she can feel the centuries layered into the walls of the ancient church. Standing by a BREAK in the wall, a SALTY tear rolls down her cheek. How many bones broke to build this monument to faith? How many PAINS were endured by workers and their families? Who stood by the stone MASON and directed his work? Who determined when it was sufficient to honor the glory of kings and bishops?

Georg’ann

AFTER the quiet, more quiet
an expanse of stillness.
Only a few birds chirping
and an occasional gurgle from the refrigerator.

Hesitant to move lest I disrupt
this equilibrium.
Breathing carefully, allowing silent expansion.

Working on a puzzle, nothing PLAIN to my eye, very few distinctions
among a thousand bits of black and beige.
Another expanse, less soothing
if in a mode for completion.
Which I am not
today.

Next door trash is piled high in a WAGON,
the MASON has left for the day.

In this is everything.
Leave the debris.
No more building.
Quiet, more quiet
Expand in stillness.

Heather

Lining up the little jars of HONEY, at least a DOZEN, I pull out paper and pen. We are running a little taste experiment. We so love the subtle flavors produced by local flowers, and we are eager to try some new ones. The darker chestnut to the pale acacia ones. Each taste transports us, as we are BORNE along different tasting notes from the blooms of trees to the gentle wildflowers. Our experiment begins to feel not just a silly indulgence, but rather a NOBLE pursuit, pushing us to speak of biodiversity and climate change. We are eagerly taking notes, and spontaneously raise our voices: “All hail the mighty bee!”

Georg’ann

Watch the spider WEAVE,
Hold graceful image in STORE
of NOBLE worker

Heather

Looking down from the TOWER, I cast a BEADY on the impressive audio-visual equipment. We had watched them get ready for this now nightly show, from beginning to fruition. And, now, the show had happened often enough, that we knew the rhythm. First a sequence of lights and simple patterns to CHECK that all was ready. Then the show would begin, moving chronologically through the art of the city, projecting images to an uplifting soundtrack, picking up on certain artistic themes. We still felt a thrill of excitement – not at all dimmed by having watched them set up and EQUIP the space. On the contrary, it is still thrilling and has done much to PIQUE our interest in the local museums. Every night, we notice new details, and we excitedly make plans for the next day’s museum excursions.

Georg’ann

She drew the nest as if she were a bird.
WOVEN line by line, from the bottom up,
working around to create an open PLACE for 3 small eggs.
The final image looks like a black and white photo.

It took most of the day. She’d stunned herself giddy, full of pride.
At 93 she’d never done anything like it before
despite a lifetime of art making utilizing fanciful methods.

How any drawing comes into being seems to me
sprinkled with PIXIE dust, magical even as I watch an image emerge.

It does PIQUE my interest, there is a desire to grasp
what is it she did, what was it that was different,
from all her other line drawings.

Mostly I set the intellect aside,
delighting in imaging this woman I love dearly
spending all day fully becoming an industrious bird
Like the robins and doves that build each spring
in the eaves of my porch,
I see her deftly dart and swoop.

Heather

I YIELD to the moment
Tapping feet, a RHYME, a beat
Working it — to try and RETRY,
Making my baby smile

Georg’ann

Running errands for Aunt Patty is to enter into a very peculiar and exacting mission. For example, to mail a letter required purchase of STAMP, which seemed simple enough until I was instructed to go to the counter and make sure to give the envelope directly to a female clerk.

“I gave a man my letter the last time and it never arrived. And make sure you don’t get a TREND stamp, I don’t want my preferences to jeopardize delivery.”

There were similar instructions for gas, groceries, and re-arranging the dishes in her cabinets. Her son had discombobulated her equilibrium in the placement of cups on the left and on bowls on the right side of the shelf.

After all was done we sat for conversation and shared a LITER of water in her very RETRO living room. Not a thing has has moved since it was appointed in 1964.

While sitting the doctor’s office calls and asks her to RETRY the heart rate monitor, they do not like the 110 pulse reading given this morning.
She complies, grumbling all the while about being bothered while she has company.

Heather

Barely AWAKE, I PASTE a cheerful smile on my face. I want to RAISE the spirits of my traveling companions, and I want to CAUSE a wave of cheerfulness that will ripple across the day. Nevermind that I might be unfocused or uncertain of what is next, for them (and myself) I will make an effort.

Georg’ann

Little bird sings songs of sorrow,
articulating that which we cannot SOLVE,
all attempts have been a WASTE.
In the morning she might be gone.

I RAISE the small brown feather,
stroking it between my thumb and forefinger,
brushing it over my wrist.

A brief PAUSE before my knees buckle
and the heaving sobs begin.
No more CAUSE for suffering,
Our dear wren has taken flight.

Heather

I TRADE the TEMPO of everyday life for the altered pace of vacation, struggling with discomfort at the lack of structure.

Georg’ann

Under the glass table, we both spot them.
The tied shoelaces.
Having lived close enough to the limitations of the body,
we marvel at the white laces
crossed, tucked, looped, pulled
into perfect bows with her FRAIL fingers.

Sipping tea, her eyes moisten but no tear falls.
A shadow of emotion unwilling to fully darken.
Instead she laughs at the ironic QUOTE on the cup.

After several stories we venture to the garden.
She steadies herself hand in mine, fingers woven
as we walk the STONE path in a halting TEMPO.
Her body half mine, my long legs shorten their stride.
This will be our last walk together, the goodbye visit.
I wonder how many more times will she tie her shoes.

Heather

Waking up this way, after a short period of time is the worst. I can feel my body on alert, and I struggle to find a FRAME of reference that will help me invite SLEEP back in. The noise from the Piazza doesn’t help, and I try not to fret about when QUIET will finally descend. I try not to WIDEN my ranging thoughts — to not imagine the varied social interactions below. Alas, my efforts are thwarted by the voices of flirtation. They float into the window, and a roar follows, as if the hunt is on. I shut my eyes and am immediately flooded with scenes of the chase– a VIXEN being run to ground by a pack of snuffling hounds. I try to work with what my mind has GIVEN me, deepening my breath, focusing on the details of green fields and blue skies. My mind twists about and I see the fox trick the hounds. Clever beast, running into safety… My mind releases, my body heavy, sweet rest ensues.

Georg’ann

Little feet play CHASE with waves, skipping
squeals of delight ERUPT
as cold foam washes over their tiny toes.

The sea is moving in all directions, riptides.
No steady rhythm or line as it comes forward,
then retreats into itself, pulling and pushing.

Playful water that rolls across the sand tickling toes,
is the same water crashing against the cliffs enclosing the cove.

Above the spray a lone fisherman stands
with perched sea birds, braced against the wind.
Pole bends in a long arc, releases, the line comes up empty.

Craggy rock man, WIELD your pole cautiously.
Today nothing will be GIVEN easily.

Heather

By the WATER
ROUND and through
The meadow
A band of goats
That FRISK and frolic
A sight sure to turn
A SMIRK to a smile

Georg’ann

I thought we’d moved to a place
where we could peacefully COAST,
no more tumult or deception.
How effortlessly one re-enters the SPIRE.
Circling the inner most curves,
tightening at the taper, descending
into the narrowest of spaces, squeezed.
Effortlessly you SHIRK responsibility, restraint.
Standing in the spotlight, lips curl in a SMIRK.
Mocking my disappointment, again
failing to comprehend the spiral.

Heather

I BRING the evidence bag closer, making sure it is out of REACH of my new partner. We have not been working together very long, and I don’t know what his technique is. I am missing my past partner – we had developed an understanding and could count on one another to be thorough. We had the same methodical approach when we started on a case. In fact, we would be able to SCOUR a scene silently, communicating with a raised eyebrow or a gesture. It will take time for the new guy and I to get connected. I didn’t mean to seem like a jerk by hoarding the bag. But it did OCCUR to me that it was better to risk offending him rather than have things go sour with the case from the start. We can work out the interpersonal stuff later.

Georg’ann

On what can we COUNT?
Our POUCH is almost empty,
will magic OCCUR?

Heather

Trust me, a bit of TWINE is all this needs. I BOAST not, really: I can fix anything. Hand me that busted drawer, the chair with a broken back. Why, with a little ingenuity and patience, I can fix the drawer or set any chair SPLAT right.

Georg’ann

The catering kitchen energy is MANIC.
Everyone moving in a fantastic choreography.
My solo is to PLATE grand mariner cheesecake.
Every slice requires a clean knife blade,
continuous cut, wipe, cut, wipe, cut, wipe
APTLY spreading sweet rich goo on everything-
dish towels, napkins, apron, sleeves, pant legs.
Globs fall, hitting the floor with a SPLAT.
By the end of the frenzy, I am covered.
As is the entire area around me, dangerously so.
What started divinely delicious became a source
of disgust, a dessert that still causes me to recoil.

Heather

Space of DEATH
In the BELLY of pain
A PENNY in the poor box
May the gods have
MERCY on us all

Georg’ann

Give warm apple CRISP
Friends on ROCKY path through grief
MERCY in small gifts

Heather

Oh delightful moment:
FLIRT with the VALET!
Sneak behind the PLANT–
Steal a kiss…
Be fully in this ADULT body:
Sensual,
Glorious,
Grown-up vitality.

Georg’ann

“SAINT of small favors,
A QUART of milk, pretty please.
ADULT in need here.”

Heather

It was an image for the ages: how Nanny sat, as if ABOVE the fray. She was a STAID one, stoic and almost grim. What would have brought a smile to a normal person’s face, say the sight of little bums bopping about with a tangling CRAWL underfoot, brought little or no reaction to her face. To be FRANK, she would never have taken this position if she had known what it entailed. The children’s guardian, who they called with affection GRAMP, had been so desperate for help, that he overrode his concerns. It was not so much her dour demeanor. But really her lack of imagination that saddened everyone. She relied on rules and structure, even going so far as to keep a GRAPH for each part of the children’s lives. She tracked and charted behaviors, school work, and social activities. Years later, Mary Jane, who had been one of the tots crawling by Nanny’s feet, finally understood why she had had panic attacks when graphs were first introduced in school. Having had her entire young life stretched and mapped across countless x and y axes, the mere sight of the gridded paper was enough to have her break out into a cold sweat.

Georg’ann

Today the Soul Writer’s took on the ACORN, 
as a FRAME for exploring. Seasonal
GRAVY of a metaphor, almost cliché. 
Resisting a tired attempt at profundity
about mighty oaks, I wrote of squirrels. 
Comic relief from a day of too much thought.
Images of body bags, children crying, rubble and despair. 

Let me lose myself in the sound of squirrels
galloping across the roof. 
Jumping onto the bird feeder, frenzied
not even stopping for a nibble. 
Down the pole, over the GRASS, up a tree, jump to the fence,
gracefully scamper along, thrusting upward,
a huge leap across the alley,
catching the wire on the other side,
brief run before another leap onto a low branch,
then disappearing except for rustling leaves. 

Watching the acrobatics I am convinced 
squirrel watching was the impetus for parkour.
Someone carefully plotting angles on a GRAPH before jettisoning their own bodies in rapid motion. 
On, off, over, against, up, down, spin, and thrust
as if there were no laws of motion, no limits. 

And now I wonder was it a spider that inspired rock climbing?
Moving the desire to pursue, to scale heights 
into a belief of possibility, tethered
by nothing more than a single line
and the steady persistence of delicate limbs grasping.

Heather

You are my bowl of PASTA
The olio to my aglio
I wouldn’t TRADE you
For all the penne in Italy
You are my Parmigiano
Your love is not a CHEAT
No cheap cheese in a green can
Who needs an active ingredient,
A protein powder, or
A saccharine fake sugar
You are a direct AGENT
My nourishing delicious love

Georg’ann

BREAK apart hard soil
warm hands AMEND, they become
nourishing AGENT

Heather

So glad we FOUND a way to UNITE with the help of our UNCLE. It is not good to have a family torn apart, especially over the Christmas pudding. It was a story that had been told over and over again, only now, it could have a happy ending.

Georg’ann

Small bird clings to vine
POISE on wobbling branch, resting
on CRATE, UNCLE laughs.

Heather

Upend the pot and there you are:
GREAT shell, feelers out
Tucked in, protected
From rainy or BALMY days
I watch and wonder:
So slow in your movement,
I pin steadiness on you,
Attribute determination
But perhaps, you SLACK and shirk
Indeed, why assume virtue or vice?
Let me allow you to simply be
What you are– a SNAIL

Georg’ann

Listen, sirens wail
outside, PAUSE motion on STAIR
notice SNAIL moves slow

Heather

“Sir, you should come take a look at this.” The detective raised his head, and looked ABOUT, trying to locate the speaker. He was new to the force and still had trouble telling some of the team apart. “Ah, what is it, Mulvaney?” Coming to stand beside the young officer, he didn’t really need an answer: an old-fashioned TUNER. It was on the floor and some parts looked broken. “Hm, looks mid-century – probably a Grundig. At least this tells us something about the victim – and perhaps what the murderer was looking for. Any other evidence of what happened?” Walking away with the rest of his team, the detective felt bowed down and heavy. The pressure to uncover the TRUTH was almost unbearable at the start of case, when there were too many possibilities and uncertainties.

Georg’ann

SPEAK as if you were part of the CHOIR,
with a clear voice thoughts fill the air,
a song in no HURRY to end.
Let your TRUTH be an aria,

Heather

It is evening. I am in my customary spot, at the kitchen counter. Knife in hand, I allow my mind to wander, following first one TRAIN of thought and then another. It helps me, as I continue to MINCE the onion, to settle into a meditative rhythm. I find this to be restorative, restful even, the movement soothing any irritability or frustrations from the day. I am able to avoid a SINGE or a burn, a drop or a break: I remain present in the moment. After a neverending BINGE of news and notifications, emails and postings, this routine is essential to my well-being. A daily practice that I keep, as faithful as any monk in a monastery.

Georg’ann

A new season has arrived.
Yesterday the wind took a WALTZ through the trees,
sending leaves swirling in dances of their own.
Watching the performance requires no ticket, no MONEY.
We sat on a park BENCH enjoying theater in the round.
Eventually the air turned chilly.
We made our way home, curling up on the couch,
settling in for a Masterpiece Theater BINGE.
An ease to the day, enveloped in soft moments.

Heather

Curled up in my favorite armchair, I consider my latest pile of books from the library. Falling into a story sounds perfect right now. But which book will I read? One of my favorite strategies is to read the first sentence or two, and then pick.

And so, the first: “Clinging to the shrouds, Spry Jim shouted, ‘Hey ho! A PILOT whale off portside!’ There was a flurry of action below. They had been at sea for what felt like an eternity. And if the one whale turned into more, then this godforsaken voyage would not be a total waste.”

Now, the second: “It was a rainy, grim night. The city streets were mostly deserted, and Julia just needed to find a dry place to wet her whistle. Drawing her coat a little tighter, she pushes into the next available café. As she looks for a seat, she notices a table with a group of very striking men, heavy-lidded and golden-haired, looking like a group of LIONS plotting to take over the world.”

And finally, “‘Really, Thomas, I must go.” His reply was to press a single fragile flower into her hand, closing her fingers around it. Gently, he bent over her hand, pressing his lips to her wrist, warm against her cool skin. As he turned and walked away, she opened her hand, gasping when she saw the crushed purple of a small
VIOLA bloom. How had he known?”
A happy sigh, as I decide to follow Julia into the café, wondering what will follow, surrendering to the magic of reading.

Georg’ann

Around this time of year, memories of that long ago weekend still HAUNT me, the ghost of something beautiful that died too quickly. I was not myself in any way I’d known myself before, intoxicated with lust; exhilarated and fully present in my body for the first time since I was a child dancing alone in my room for hours, completely free.

Perhaps not surprising then that it was dancing that started our weekend, a local festival with multiple venues, crowded tents full of pulsing beats and bodies. Moving into the streets, energized at 2 am. You’d SWEAR it was a movie set, everyone animated. You were wearing a PLAID flannel shirt. There to enjoy, not to impress.

We went for a drink, meandering conversation, nothing spoken mattered. Though I do remember you telling me eyelashes are a form of CILIA and us laughing about seductively batting one’s cilia, and then playfully blinking our eyes in various flirty ways.

Later we went back to your VILLA where you gave me figs and crackers to eat while you played the VIOLA with your whole body, slowly caressing the strings with the bow. My own taut body began to quiver, my voice making a music I’d never heard it express.

Heather

Her HEART sank. She had retraced her steps, had even thought to SHINE a flashlight along the path. But no luck. Her necklace seemed truly and completely lost. And now, she could hear the CHIME of the village clock, signalling the need to head home. How would she explain to her family that the pearls were gone?

Georg’ann

Outside overlooking the city below, it was hard to believe we’d managed to get together, given the brief overlap in schedules, yet here we sat together in the same place after years of trying to come together.

The hostess, sounding authentically welcoming, came out to the patio and called, “Calabria, PARTY of 9.”
We rose to follow her, weaving in and around the crowded, bustling dining room to a semi secluded booth in the back- that place just between the busing station and the restroom hall. Clear advantages and disadvantages to this particular spot.

All proceeded as expected. Water glasses filled, conversational banter about the menu and whatnot continued as decisions were being made. Arrival of a crisp white wine came first, served with polenta toasts and Gorgonzola. As we reached a point of satisfaction, out came the main course, a huge MOUND of spaghetti served family style.

Watching everyone swirl and slurp the long pasta strands with gusto brought a SMILE to my lips. The scene was boisterous delight, so much more than I’d hoped for. In a spontaneous burst I clinked my glass as if it were a CHIME, ready to make a toast. Everyone paused mid motion, silence fell as all attention was turned to me. With tears in my eyes, there was nothing to say. Everyone understood. We held the moment suspended, a scene stop, and then continued the buoyant commotion.

Heather

Vera was fidgeting with a bit of TWINE. Her long hair recently SHORN, she looked a little vulnerable. Like maybe new school year plus new hair was just a little too much. On a HUNCH, Vera had saved a place at the LUNCH table for her best friend, Paul. Where was he? She really hoped that she and Pauly had the same lunch period. Opening her bag, she pulled out some carrots and sighed. The noise of the cafeteria was ramping up and she felt like a little lonely island. Just when she wanted hide from all these faces and noise, a thump made her look up: Paul sat down. He took one look at the carrots and snorted. “Got those nasty baby ones again, huh?” Vera waved one at him, saying in a mock announcer’s voice, “Bunny bites: the favorite of rabbits and children alike. Have a MUNCH and you’ll be right as PUNCH. Don’t delay, grab a BUNCH today!” Paul rolled his eyes, “lucky for you, I am going to
ignore that bit of rubbish and focus on my very excellent peanut butter sandwich. Wait – do you have pimento cheese? Trade you!” Vera just grinned

Georg’ann

As a very small child, Heidi liked to get up early, grab provisions, and head out the front door for adventure. When her mother woke she often FOUND a trail that lead her directly to her darling daughter, still in footed pjs or a cozy nightshirt, gazing at bugs up close or making potions out of weeds and puddle water in the mostly near vicinity of their house.

Occasionally Brenda was unsettled by the distances Heidi traveled. She had a disquieting HUNCH that a 4 year old roaming the neighborhood didn’t reflect well on her parenting.

Luckily Heidi liked to MUNCH dry cereal right out of the box. Her puffy little hands could not hold much and with every bit that made it to her mouth, there was a BUNCH that fell to the floor, the steps, the sidewalk, thus making her easy to track. Whenever Brenda located Heidi she always asked about whatever it was she was doing, and then would take Heidi’s hand and suggest they go home for a proper breakfast.

There was no thought of attempting to thwart Heidi’s early rising explorations anymore than there was an expectation that Brenda should manage to wake in time to provide parental oversight of some kind.

The gift of Brenda’s parenting style, if one cared to give it that generous a characterization, was that it allowed them each to be their own person, to enjoy their own habits. Heidi learned the gift of independence, exploration, capability.

In later years she struggled a bit in partnerships, being somewhat laissez faire in tending to details of accountability. The freedoms she expected and allowed were often taken as disinterest, to which she could only respond with a childlike sense of bewilderment.

Heather