Written on a Napkin

Looking back at what seems like ages ago, I can remember a time when I read about child development in a book, where children, at a certain age, can only grasp the concept of the human face through basic geometric shapes.  Ovals and a triangle plus a rectangle comprise Mom, Dad, and every other important person in their life.  Eyesight is developed enough to render contrast.  Then, they turn into these little machines that eat, poop, and fall down a lot.  Then comes the first time they tell you they miss you, or that they love you, or when they begin to call you out on your bullshit, or come up with elaborate plans to try to outsmart you.  Every so often, they do something to remind you that they are, deep down, still that same sweet child just figuring out the world for the first time (just hopped up with more experience, more opinion, and more substance).  I went to lunch with Grace the other day, and upon returning to the table with our drinks, she had scratched this upon my napkin, and hid it under my sandwich so I wouldn't immediately see it.  She wanted to be sweet, but she also wanted to be cunning.  She wants to be tricky, and she wants me to recognize those qualities in her.  It's easy to landslide and miss such an important detail, with family, or with any facet of life. 

Life has been so full of stress lately that I'm happy to realize how important the small things are.  I'm working on some new material; some teas I haven't tasted before; experiences I haven't shared before.  

~jamus