Knock, knock

Just a few minutes ago I left Beatrix in her crib, happy and very sleepy. I lingered for a moment, looking at her sweet face with the covers pulled up to her chin. "Cookie," she said, "Morning."

"You're going to have cookies in the morning?" I asked.

"Imm, hmm."

"That's a funny joke."

On cue, Bea continued, "Knock, knock."

"Who's there?"

We went through a series of knock, knock jokes in which she listed many of our friends around here, who in a sense are family: Ben, E-tan, Berto, Cat-ine, Don [John], Nancy, Sa--ee [Sally]. . .She even included Rosie the dog, among others. She kept wanting to list them again and again, in a sort of delighted way that reminded me of a prayer.

I felt so happy listening to her spill out the richness of these names, and I am reminded to be grateful for the community in which we live. Elspeth had her preschool end-of-the-year concert tonight, and it was sweltering in the Catholic church, but there was a sense of "all-being-in-this-together" and people were happy though sweaty. Toward the end of the songs and the ceremony I felt a sudden flood of sadness that I had no family close by to see my children growing up. They often visit, of course, but I had no grandparents or aunties or uncles sitting around me, focused on Elspeth, on the celebration of her growing up. It is a sadness I suppose I thought I let go of in the face of the reality of my nomadic family, but it passes over me now and then, as it did tonight as I was surrounded by good people with their good families.

Thankfully, the legacy of my own childhood continues for my three daughters: the support and knit of community. There are people here who care and nurture and even tell off my own children; I complain, grieve, and share all the good things that come through my life. For this I am truly grateful. Elspeth and Merry and Bea call many women "aunt" and many men "uncle" and they are caught in many hands, accepting with the same love my own blood-family, as the girls and I say.

So today, there were new tomatoes planted and potted, manure spread, late johnny-jump-ups nestled into soil, strawberries from our garden shared among friends--and there was lots of love to go around. Practical love, like the love our dear friends showed us by taking our girls so Martin and I could go out, and constant, unsaid love--the river that flows around our ankles, reminding us that life is full of cool winds and goodness.