Spring will come again, people say. Yet I am heartsick. Nothing will happen when spring comes; That child will not come again. Nakahara Chuuya, “Spring Will Come Again” Note: the poem was written after the death of Chuuya’s first son, Fumiya, in November 1936
My son is so funny sometimes. As a mother, I can tell when my son's really hurt. Sometimes he's crying in protest, in frustration or just to see what happened. And sometimes, he's more sneaky. During one morning, he slipped on the carpeted floor. As he landed and dropped onto his back, he cried at … Continue reading A Young Boy’s Idea of Subtlety
I recently had an epiphany. 1> I’m definitely getting older, and 2> being a parent really restricts your enjoyment of popular music. You start to see stalkers where you once saw admirers. You see pushy potential abusers where you once saw ardent and determined wooers. Here's an example of what I mean: I was listening … Continue reading One of those, “you know you’re getting old when…” moments.
Even at my age, I have dreams about missing school deadlines. I’m sure a psychiatrist would say I’m feeling that things are out of control, or there are other deadlines I’m stressing about. She’d probably be right. However, sometimes they are a godsend. The other night, I had a dream about an unfinished school project. … Continue reading Sometimes the Writing Comes to You
My son Michael is a special boy in more ways than one. He's sharp as a tack and has ingenuity coming out of his pores--especially when it comes to finding a way around rules and obstacles (especially those we set up to protect him or the house). He's also one of many children who require … Continue reading When “Participation Trophies” Matter
I got to see the Super and Blue part of it. Blood Moon, not so much. It went like this. 12 am, moon so bright it's like a spotlight. 4am, glow from moon makes lawn look frozen. 5am (when the eclipse was due) clouds everywhere! Lol! Luckily, I get up at 5am anyway, so my … Continue reading The Super-Blood-Blue Moon