I think about people who speak languages that don’t use definite articles,

and how one might even start to explain what they’re for.

When you stop to think about it,

languages are so impossibly complex.

Our ability to communicate ideas, thoughts, abstractions,

seems miraculous.

English speakers: try carrying on a conversation

without that three-letter word.

I’ll bet it’s one you take entirely for granted.

An unimportant word,

insignificant.

Yet conversing without it

may prove harder

than

you

think.

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Lucerne. 1982.

Walking alone because of some spat or another,

with brother, with mom —

who remembers now?

What I do remember is the crowd at the edge of the partk,

faces skyward,

the tilt of my own neck,

the way I caught my breath at the sight of the hangglider,

drifting in lazy circles like a great raptor,

back and forth,

back and forth.

I watched, mouth agape,

all arguments forgotten,

as over the course of 3o minutes,

the glider swooped & soared,

inching ever lower,

until finally,

gently,

touching down

on

the

lawn.

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“Mom…” he said, “I broke the bathtub…”

Poor kid–kneeling on the side to scrub away soap scum had rather shockingly revealed the dry rot that had been silently eating away at the homebuilt tub, tiled in sheets of mini-squares by parents with more enthusiasm than expertise.

Now the whole thing had to be ripped out–our beloved family tub, wide enough for all 4 of us.

Our grief was short-lived, though, on the announcement that the replacement would be a Jacuzzi®!

What the new tub lacked in homemade style, it made up for in functionality. Who needed a hot tub? We had the “jacuz.”

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Go there.

Dive deep.

It’s where all the true answers live,

the ones that matter.

Reside there.

Rest for awhile.

If you feel uncomfortable,

odds are it’s only that you’re not used to it.

Just give yourself time

to acclimate.

Open you palms,

your pockets,

your mind,

your heart.

You may think there’s nothing here,

but hush,

just wait.

Listen.

What was empty will be filled.

Can you feel it?

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In first grade, Carla and I created a play. The City Mouse and the Country Mouse, with grocery bags as our brown fur costumes, yellow construction paper stapled together around crumpled paper stuffing as our block of cheese. One of us must have told the teacher, or perhaps she overheard us playing — rehearsing — because she had us perform our production in front of the blackboard, while the reset of the class watched from their desks.

Did I like it? I think I was both proud and embarrassed by turns, taking a bow in my paper bags.

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