it felt close.

I slept on the couch last night. Not because I was in the dog house (though I wouldn’t put it past me), but because Evan was sick. Like puking sick. After Marcelline’s 5am wantings, I went to the kitchen for a glass of water and on my way, saw a bright white cat right out the window. We locked eyes for a bit. They felt close. It was stark, so random.

White cats symbolize happiness, virtue, and good fortune.

White cats offer a clean slate, a bare canvas to create whatever we desire. Because most are deaf at birth the boldest symbol of a white cat is to listen without hearing. White cats show us we can tune into another frequency to understand what is happening around us.

I didn’t go to work today. I stayed home to tend to Marcelline and Evan. And to—as one does on sick days—watch The Mighty Ducks. I found a new artist on the interwebs and told a friend,

– My body—and soul—feel like these chunky paintings:

I got in the car to pick up a prescription for Evan. I thought, oh, the show I produce is on—I should listen! Heard two songs, heard a break. Heard Kevin Cole say, “I have a special birthday request for Jim.” And I thought, I wonder if it was our volunteer Jim’s birthday. Kevin continued, “He shares a birthday with Bob Dylan.” And I kind of chuckled to myself as I thought, my dad’s favorite fact. And when Kev finally said, “This one is for Jim in Texas,” I was laughing. How random! I barely caught the request.

When I parked, I called my dad.

– Sorry, I can’t talk right now, my song’s on the radio.

– Haha… I thought that was you! Dad, I’m not even working today! So random.

We both loved that little moment.

Later, I listened to a This American Life from a couple weeks ago. While the whole thing is great, I really want you—yes you—to listen to Act Four:

Here’s what else you need to know today.

When I was a kid, at night, sometimes after dinner, my mom and I would sit in the kitchen and talk. And I don’t remember about what, but I remember the feeling of it was just, we were really listening to each other and hearing each other in that way that doesn’t always happen.

It felt close. In my memory, the room is dimly lit. Sometimes my dad would come to the door of the kitchen, lit from the hall light behind him, and see us there, talking quietly, and not join in, but just stand there, apart from us.

And I remember a little panic, like, oh, I hope he doesn’t feel left out. I hope he doesn’t feel jealous. I hope he won’t get mad.

It made me nostalgic for sitting in the chair in the kitchen, talking with my mom into the night. Bewildered—at the age of 36—as I realized I may not have been the only child who experienced this. Wondered at what age—if any—Marcelline will sit with me in the kitchen, talking into the night. I guess at some point I should start doing the dishes.

We gave Marcelline a bath tonight and I would sing, “Baaaaaby” and she would reply, “Baaaaabaaaaaa” and we would all laugh and my heart would soar.

After the baaaabaaaa went down to sleep, Evan and I watched Deep Sea Diver’s NPR Tiny Desk Concert.

God, it gave me so many feels. Jessica Dobson is a hero. I love Seattle for giving us this band. I cannot wait until I can see them in person. It feels close.

[and that’s kind of it.]

3 thoughts on “it felt close.”

  1. Laughter coming from the kitchen is one of the things i cherish most, it really makes me happy as a parent.

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