Mud puddles.

January 22, Saint-Ismier.

Both kids sick, again, but still, mud puddles.

Lives.

January 19, Saint-Ismier.

Fridman left yesterday to go back to Hugo and the circus.
Another life.
I am reminded of the infinity of sad situations we could be facing and I do not feel sad, just altered. My mind wanders to a son dying at the age of eleven while playing a dangerous game of daring, my friend Virginia told me one day, friends of hers left with the pieces of a life devastated, living on for the other child, burdened by the impossible; a brother dying on the road at the age of twenty-nine at the end of a life graced by gentle muses and wasted by melancholy and drugs, and my mother left with a life bearing yet more sorrows, as lives will, lives of pain the world over, and I feel joyful for all there is that is light and beauty.

Looking for dragons.

January 14, Saint-Ismier.

Another try at finding dragons, an eleventh-century fortress in Mornas, then the Grignan castle, where we arrived at night unfortunately, and under a frightfully cold wind.
Nicolas knocked at the fortress door, looking for dragons.

The Grignan castle, once home of Madame de Sévigné.

The Uzès castle.

January , Saint-Ismier.

Nicolas asked where were the dragons?

Saint-Antoine l'Abbaye.

January 8, Saint-Ismier.

Roman holiday.

January 8, Saint-Ismier (France.)

In France since late December, and this week end, the first since school started, an excursion to the South and the sun, and a step back in time: we began at the abbey in Saint-Antoine l'Abbaye, an eleventh-century Gothic beauty, stern and chilling, and today trekked in the fragant hills of Provence to the Pont du Gard, a Roman aqueduct that is one of France's foremost tourist attraction, not a stone missing in a construction dating back to the early first century. To top off the road trip we headed to the city of Arles to see the Roman amphitheater.
Nicolas wanted to see the dragon in the castle and we had to explain that it was not a castle but a church, a bridge and an arena. No dragons, but powerful ghosts still.

Florida and the kids.

December 15, Ft Myers.

Fridman comes back from a month in Peru today and soon we will be in France and stay there until spring.
I dreaded staying in Florida for a whole month by myself with the boys. Time dreaded metamorphosed into time enchanted, like the butterflies Dylan loves to catch, precious time, daily walks in a Florida wildlife and nature preserve not far from the house, and with a net he found at a yard sale Dylan became a butterfly catcher, my son the poet, catching butterflies, the first time he tried, letting them loose, the walks a daily wonder, seeing an alligator by the marsh on the side of the trail, careful to step around a snake seemingly sleeping on our path, taking in the beauty of the native Florida scenery, the kids engrossed in a cricket, and the house cat. There were hard times too, Dylan can be difficult, and especially so when his father is not around, but these were all the more enchanted times because I thought they were going to be just that, a prolonged trial of boredom not altogether avoided morphing into discipline nightmares.
When we weren't a the nature center saying hello to the rescue bald eagles before hitting the trails the boys played with their Legos, doing and undoing them over and over again, and we read books and did school and read more books and went to the playground and went to garage sales and the days went by in a dream of soft breezes and carefree, warm afternoons.
This morning we visited Lee County Manatee Park and didn't see any manatees but discovered another beautiful peaceful place to keep in our heart for when we are deep in school and winter.

In memoriam.

December 3, Ft Myers.

My friend Lily died Thursday after complications from a stroke, the second she'd had.
The first one defined her life, leaving her unable to speak, walk, remember, redefining her life and making her an even more beautiful person than I imagine her to be, before, refining her down to the essential, the pure joy of being alive, like a child.
She died and left that joy in all of us an empty place, resonating with the sound of her voice velvety and lulling, the touch of her hand strong, stubbornly irresistible, the feel of her lingering pace. She walked at her own pace after that first stroke, she forgot things, she moved though life slowly, lingering behind, she drove you crazy sometimes and then you would catch yourself and feel remorseful and cruel and wait for her as she walked to you softly smiling and there was nothing you could say but yes, we are here, now.
She was a photographer, before that first stroke. A photographer she met another photographer, who would become my friend Marie and would introduce me to Lily, and they walked the road together for many years.
In the end I didn't know much about Lily all these years but that she was a photographer and then she had a stroke that left her like an infant, the heart of a child in the body of an adult woman for the rest of her life, her heart that betrayed her again and then stopped. I didn't know much about Lily but that she was to live forever with us, our angel lightness, walking life softly.

Kristine's visit.

December 1, Ft Myers.

Enchanted days on Sanibel Island.
With my friend Kris here for a week from New Jersey we discovered an enchanted national wildlife refuge full of slim graceful birds and the occasional alligator. The vistas are what I sometimes imagine paradise to be when I daydream there were one. It's turned Florida cool, but before it did we enjoyed our usual spot at the beach, and coffee on a canopied deck, trying to keep the kids under control.
She is leaving tomorrow.

There but for fortune.

November 18, Ft Myers.

As my neighbor, Connie, was driving us to the farmer's market in downtown Ft Myers we came upon an old homeless man crossing a six-lane highway with a walker, one painstaking step at a time. We stopped and hoped others would do the same, then Connie drove around to come back and check on him, to see that he had made it safely to the other side, and he finally did, slowly, seemingly oblivious of the danger he was in every step of the way - talking with Connie about being grateful, reminded of the Joan Baez song, There but for Fortune, and I am grateful, for there but for fortune go I, risking my life for crossing the street, alone in the world, muttering to myself, adrift.
Reminded never to pass judgment, for there go I, but for the grace of my life - yet.

Sand.

November 14, Ft Myers.

The presents.

November 14, Ft Myers.

Ft Myers Beach.

November 14, Ft Myers.

Dylan is six.

November 14, Ft Myers.

We celebrated Dylan's birthday again today.
We rented a car and went to the beach, better late than never. We drove back from the beach full of sand and sun and went to an arcade gallery. We came out full of noise and fun and went home to another cake and candles, and the presents, the presents, at last.
Dylan had a great time, and I filled my memory with a moment of joy, precious, in the midst of what has been a rather difficult time, full of anxiety over insignificant thing and momentous clouds, car problems bogging us down, Fridman's imminent departure leaving me alone here with the kids for a full month, Nicolas worrying me as he grows up, or fails to.

At the fair.

November 6, Tallahassee.

Six.

November 6, Tallahassee.

The Anastasini Circus (Rebecca.)

November 6, Tallahassee, Florida.

One more day.

November 6, Tallahassee, Florida.

Off, after all, after one more day, a day in Hugo, for Dylan, to say goodbye to his friend Nathan, and play, for a ceviche with Marcos, for a day in my old quinta. Off, but not there quite yet, stopping in Tallahassee for one more day of circus, at the fair where Rebecca and the Poemas are working with the Anastasi family show. We decide to throw Dylan a surprise birthday party with his other friends, and go to the fair after the show.
One more day of circus before the winter.
A day brimming with fun, and nostalgia already.

Hugo.

November 5, Hugo.

Sandro's house.

November 3, Dallas.