that little voice

Last night I heard that little voice inside. The little voice that self-help books say we should pay more attention to. The little voice that carries great wisdom. I finally heard it last night. As I was cutting a piece of aluminum with the kitchen knife I heard this voice quietly, patiently say "China, this is a really bad idea. You are going to cut yourself." My big voice booms in at this point and says "Well don't manifest it. I'll be fine and I am almost done." Punctuating my very sentence the knife slips and pierces into that fleshy part between my thumb and forefinger. I scream. Raphael runs around looking for a towel. I become dizzy and woozy, racing towards a panic attack. Ridiculous. I wonder how many other times in my life I have let whatever knife I was holding slip and injure myself on account of ignoring that little voice.

blackberries and wild egrets

raphael plays like calvin and i his hobbes. something always becomes a new challenge. "china, china! watch me pluck a blackberry while i ride my bike." "look at this. this is going to be the world record for skipping rocks." or the most recent. "oohh. watch me climb this sideways tree." i inevitably fall victim to his impromptu challenges and run behind him. suddenly the rules will change and i have found myself in a new game before the old one has even aged a minute. he stills knows how to play like a ten year old. i love it.

its better on a bike

me and my awesome two wheeler. a favorite route of raphael and i. he insists i should wear a helmet but i need to feel the wind rushing past me ears.

naps

the backyard. just behind bambi are the woods and to the west is the pacific ocean.

the playground down the street

the playground down the street serves several purposes. primarily it is the elementary school childrens' but in the evening hours it is mine. i recently learned it houses the neighborhood mailboxes. there is an excellent frisbee throwing field, multiple four square courts, and an excellent pretend race track. there is also a small hill where i dare raphael to race me, hurricane past him, and then fall off my bike and hit my head, spinning, to the ground. the swings happen to be the just-so place when i am in need of a refuge from the panic of moving, a new relationship, foreign accents, and unfamiliar roads. it also happens to be the appropriate place for shouting up at God because the only person you know in canada is mad at you and you are mad at him and so you feel utterly alone. swinging, yelling you irrationally believe your threatening words will encourage the miraculous voice to flood your ears and pronounce great truths, cradling your heartache and revealing perfection. this hasn't happened yet, but i have high hopes for this particular elementary school playground.