We're here. Ahhhhhhhh...

Notes from the trip up:

"Let's just head up I-95" is a fine plan until you hit NYC at 3:30 p.m.

A walkman for a three-year-old is a GOOD thing, even if the CDs get sticky with chocolate-covered pretzel residue.

M was wonderful except for the last few fussy hours on day 2--which is basically when we were ALL ready to be here.

Billy Jonas's kids CD "What Kind of Cat Are You?" was the only thing that calmed M down at that point.

Although, R and I did a fantastic (if I say so myself) medley of "Swing Low," "When the Saints Go Marching In," "I'm Gonna Sing Sing Sing," Amazing Grace," and other favorites. R did the tuba line, and I interspersed the lyrics with driving instructions: "Oh when the saints / turn on 16..."

PPB, I'm SO sorry I didn't call you back. Didn't get your call until later, and once we got to the hotel I could barely stand up.

In fact, I went to bed early last night (did I mention I have a cold?) and feel human again at last.

Memorable quote: "I get the feeling that Connecticut is very well funded." --R, while driving the Merritt Parkway


So I thought I'd write a poem each day while I'm here. Not necessarily revise it, or even think about it too much, but just capture something of our experience here in Maine with 11 people under one cozy roof.

Eh, maybe I won't do it every day, but today I did. I used some html code for fun so if you read this on bloglines it'll be even more messed up than usual.


in my dreams

someone was whispering: mommy.          mommy.
only one person in the world names me that…
         …mommy…
and she’s across the room, untucked from a wool blanket,
calling to me.
i fumble for a flashlight and
    we creep down steep stairs,
        whose creaks i do not know,
            in the cottage heavy with dreams.

our assignment complete,
            we flush,
        ascend,
    tuck,
kiss

and for a long time afterward
i think i still hear her
under the hum of the fan,
murmuring my name.