I pull off a book from the shelf in my studio, looking for something to use in my new notebook project. It’s an old Sunset Vegetable Gardening book. At first I want to use it for collage. I flip through and on the last page there is a sketch and a list of winter vegetables to plant: beets, brussel sprouts, carrots, lettuce, and spinach. I recognize the hand writing, it’s my mom’s. I can’t use this. I think about the garden in “Jennifer’s Walk”, a book from my childhood I read to Jack and Fiona. The garden in “Jennifers Walk” always reminds me of the garden my mom planted in our back yard. Now I am looking at a sketch of her vegetable plot, the one imbedded in my memories. I remember walking outside with her, “Jenny, a rabbit ate my carrots”. I imagine a white rabbit. Every time I read Jack and Fiona “Jennifer’s walk” I think of the white rabbit. I am reminded of my mom, my life as a child. My body yearns to be that little girl, to feel that way. The way my body felt today when I opened the page and saw my mom’s writing. I take the books into Jack and Fiona’s room when they wake from their nap; “Vegetable Garden” and “Woodland Animals” another one of my childhood favorites. I tell them the story of the books, they watch me in earnest. Fiona doesn’t have her hearing aids on yet, but Jack hears every word. He doesn’t interrupt, he processes. I flip the pages, he sees a picture of a turtle, “I don’t like turtles, they bite” he says. I look at him and giggle, he smiles.
Category: missing things
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I hear a squirrel and a blue Jay in the trees. I think a mosquito is buzzing around my head, I hope it doesn’t bite me. Kids are playing at the park, a basketball hits the concrete, “Pa Pa Pa.” Chimes ring, the cob webs flutter in the breeze. Mid July, late summer’s quickly approaching. Brown Oak leaves and jasmine flowers scatter across the blue stone. I can’t remember the last time Alan and I sat out here, had a BBQ, or had anyone over for dinner. We’ve been out here to use the Baby swing. The rosemary has grown so big. It’s been ages since I’ve used some twigs to put on top of a roast chicken. I used to love that part. I’d be wearing my apron, the chicken prepped, giblets simmering on the stove for Billy. Sometimes I’d have opened a bottle of wine to cook with and helped myself to a glass. I would be so excited walking out and breaking off a piece of rosemary, smelling it. Proud of myself and thinking I did something really nice for my husband, making him a Roasted Chicken. I felt like a good wife. I had time today to research a menu for tonight, Ramona’s working till 6:00. I went to the grocery store, but I had no desire to cook, I bought Sukhi’s Tandoori chicken dinner and Uncle Ben’s microwave basmati rice.
Fiona had her home visit this morning with Linda from Early Start. (http://jade.marinschools.org/Student-Programs/Special-Education/Pages/Early-Start.aspx )She did very well, Linda and I heard her say flower while we read her a book. I am learning sign language, it’s not as hard as I thought it would be, Jacks learning too. Fiona hasn’t been as interested in the signs as Jack. I went to yoga today. I missed the babies being with me and really missed them for lunch at the veggi grill. When I got home I almost came upstairs when the babies woke up from their nap because I missed them so much, but I decided I should take my time. I worked in the studio on some collages. I had strange fragmented memories while I was working. I thought of my grandma’s house in the summer on Long Island. It may be the musty smell of the paper I’m using. I was reminded of an uncomfortable time, when my body wasn’t mine. A time when I’d creep around the old house when everyone was sleeping searching for secrets. It brought me right back to now.
Dirty Laundry Blog by Jennifer Hynes 