write the quiet times

Sometimes it's 1:28 AM and after giving up on sleep for the time being I'm sitting at the kitchen table staring at you, digital world, eating a bowl of homemade granola and whole milk. (It's a pretty meal.)

I feel I've lost track of documenting some of the important things to me, most particularly the nuances of dear people.

Today I had a sewing party with Cousin Jefinner and Sister (& nephew too). JFNR works on drapes for her bedroom, precise and measuredly. I haphazardly sew squares of fabric together so that later on I can piece all the chunks together by hand as I watch 30Rock or sit and talk with people. Sister tries her hand at bib-making. She succeeded. Her hands are good but she estimates the fabric is not what she wanted and feels rather satisfied with buying bibs after all. Nephew sat in my arms, pulling his binkie out and putting it back in. AND I SAW HIM ROLL OVER! This chubby, peach-fuzz head is growing up so quickly.

I like these people I shared my afternoon with. Family is necessary and marvelous but frequently stressful and conversation can become tenuous and we take each other for granted. But these parts of my family are something great and always nice to be with.

My 5' Aunt comes in later in the day, "You better say goodbye to Abuela when you leave. She doesn't like it when you don't say goodbye. In my culture, you say hello and you say goodbye. You always say them, it doesn't matter." So I make a point of saying ciao, Abuela says gracias, Aunt says thank you, and JFNR and I exchange last words on whether we need more sewing machines for next time.

Then I drove through the skirts of town to find a gravel road of farmhouses. I saw what looked like a Montana view and knew that's where I needed to take my run. Can I share with you the most amazing thing? Imagine a barely paved road, houses on little handful-of-acres farms. On this road are vending machines.

Chew on that: vending machines.
Goodnight, I'm going to a paperback book.