Friday, January 24, 2003

I have boxes of marionettes, boxes of terror in my car. I'm not sure whether to bring them in the house, or bury them in some holy place, where they will trouble children's imaginations, and mine, no more. Kirsten suggested I give them to friends with small children, who delight in watching them hanging from the ceiling. But that would mean that I too would have to watch them hanging from the ceiling. Watching me. Waiting for that moment I'm alone, when they can show that their teeth aren't just painted on. I don't know why marionettes, of all plush toys and puppets, have always been so frightening to me. But I volunteered to take them off Terry and Kerstin's hands anyway. Maybe I should hang all of them from my ceiling, and put a little observation camera in my room, just to prove that they do live, when we're not watching, making their own little productions of innocent children's tales, except with evil sacrifices and enchantments designed to give them power over their would be puppet-masters. I'm going to work myself into a paranoid frenzy. After all, I did drive three hours from Cave Creek here without any of them climbing out their shoe boxes. My death would have been chalked up to hazardous road conditions. That's all. And yet I am home safely. I saw Draco and Orion's bow last night, under the cold night sky. It was too cold even for me to sleep out under the stars, but I circled around and around in marvel, until my nostril hairs began to freeze. Being outside and actually having to accomplish tasks gives cold a new edge. It's all about conservation of heat. Breaking up the ice in the water trough. Refilling Simon's hay bag. Checking on the chicken's water. Bringing in wood. There wouldn't be the consequences that befell Jack London's greenhorn, but numb fingers and toes aren't fun in any story, no matter how far you are from the nearest warm hearth. I really got the "less haste, more speed" aphorism last night and today out at Cave Creek. I sure didn't want to refill the hay bag, or fall in the water trough. While I was aware of freezing my exposed parts, it made me more, not less, deliberate in my tasks. Surprisingly, peeing outside was not painful. I found that preferable to emptying the pee bucket. Terry and Kerstin laugh and shrug their shoulders when they talk about how, next time, they'd put in a composting toilet that takes both solid and liquid waste. And it doesn't require the yogic discipline I first thought it would, years ago, when they warned me not to pee while pooping. You just have to be a little careful, a little more aware. Kai is delightful. At nine weeks, already so alert, taking it all in, and happy about it. Being held all the time by mom or dad makes it easier for him, apparently, to deal with strangers, having that security. He was just fine playing with me this morning, wandering around in my arms, when he decided he wanted motion. While it's instinctive, I think, to carry babies around, nurture them, learn from them, seeing a couple committed to attachment parenting in operation is pretty compelling. I forgot that even out there my metabolism is still slower. I had to strip off layers immediately, and probably would have been most comfortable in shorts. Last night, I slept under a top sheet and was toasty warm, with the masonry wood furnace more than enough to keep the whole house warm. The February I went out to help Terry frame and build walls and floors was a little chilly. I don't think they'd cobbed the walls yet either. Now, the place is so tight and cozy I can't even remember what it was like while we were building, other than the painful gravel on the floors. Being without phone and e-mail, even for just 24 hours, while it produces a little anxiety on the way out, is liberating. While planning a visit, I'm looking at my checklist of things I must get done. Once I'm out there, I'm reminded that that's why I need to go more regularly. Retreat. Recharge. 12:38:53 PM