Then she was in front of me, talking about going to nursery school tomorrow. She hasn’t been there in a couple weeks now, was ambivalent about going at all, so I turned the conversation to her friends, Lauren and Summer.
“I could have named you Summer, Julia. You were born in the summer.”
“Yeah. I was born in summer.”
“But we named you Julia because you were born in July.”
“Yeah,” giggling, “July and Julia sort of rhyme,” and she put her hand over her mouth, laughing.
She’s got a bad cough. Her cheeks are chapped red and lips are too. Her goldy hair was loose around her face, bangs hanging to her chin… they had to be cut off in an accidental comb-winding incident a few months ago…but those sea green eyes, the expressive tilt of her lips as she talked…all at once I had tears in my eyes. How could anybody be as lucky as I am? My life held a Julia, and I never knew, but here she is: on my lap, in my arms, her sharp laughter in my ears.
Yeah, it’s deep winter here and we’re deep in our drafty basement office. We have a cute desktop fountain down there and candles, etc. to draw good energy through the office. We wish they drew money. We’re angry as we painfully wait for a bunch of dumbshits, no, no, no, dear customers to pay us. They have the money and are good and honest people; they just don’t realize we are waiting and tapping savings. And we’re going to spend the money on house payments, and electricity, and groceries, crazy folks that we are. (People: Always pay your plumber right away. Please. They will love you…)
Born in the middle of summer, everything about her spells summertime, even in January. Hug your daughters, okay? Love, Val
p.s. It’s so damned cold here, I’m really, really grateful for that button on the dash I can press—and heavenly miracle: the seat warms up…even to the point it’d scorch my back where my sweater rides up. God bless the inventor of this invention, and all his ancestors forevermore.
