Old friends

November 10, 2009 at 11:05 pm 1 comment

The boys had visitors in their new digs this past weekend. George and Ollie, who were born one day prior to them in the same hospital. We had actually taken a “multiples class” w/ their folks, Aysha and Ben, a few months before, so imagine our surprise and happiness at winding up in the clink ’round the same time. Here are some photos from the great day, and then I feel a bit of blabber building in me, so stay tuned after the loveliness.sax sons w ollie and george 11-8-09 reNow THAT'S humor!

playroom procession

This is the playroom? Not bad, guys.

It’s somehow November, so we can’t help looking back over the past year and shaking our heads. Clearly we are living someone else’s screenplay: eager, doe-eyed, artsy transplanted New Yorkers make their way in the great North, learning to brave the winds and winters, and before long find themselves with three cute little babies in an 1830 farmhouse; merry hijinks ensue. It’s true, we are transplanted yet again now. We have a house and a yard and even a barn. Add that to the minivan and the spouse (we each have one, for a total of two between us), and we are the picture of lunatic domesticity. It is fun and sweet and squishy but don’t try this at home, kids.

That I have outright failed you as a blogger is so apparent as to require no further comment; let the words at least be uttered so it doesn’t go all elephant-in-the-room on us. I think of you often. You readers, you cyberspace, you receptacle for my thoughts and snapshots, my silliness. The lost months hurt here at home even more, for our log is splintered, a gaping hole in the midst of the narrative, our 18 minutes of silence. Somehow the madness of our life caught up to us, to me anyway, and the simple efforts attached to this affair, reformatting photos, finding the strength to articulate our crazy capers, seemed so completely beyond me I can’t imagine how the first 100 posts of this blog were hatched. On whose power? Or whose wind? And where to turn with the adrenaline  faucet squeezed?

I’ll conclude this nothingness with some brief character sketches of our clan on the eve of their one year anniversaire.

Satchel Rhythmic and songful, ole Satch has the broadest mumblespeak vocabulary of the boys. He quizzically eyes the heavens, or the wall, or your face, saying “boom boom boom,” or “t…t…tuh…” or “mama” or even “dada.” His trademark gesture is quickly opening and shutting his hands in a feeling motion that is applied to the floor, or his brothers, or the air. Or even at times his mouth, which move he accompanies with a low hum, generating some genuinely groovy phasing. Satch pounds the floor for entertainment; he’s frozen by the faintest hint of distant music; he crawls with desperate, quick determination, but interrupts his stride every few lengths to sit up and survey his path. His other great love, so far, is books. He attends their public presentation, grabs for dear life at spines and pages, occasionally and unwittingly leaving disaster as his signature. Satch is the loudest of the brood, and can be the most serious. But his belly laugh or angry growl can shake you to your core. He is fiercely and intensely ALIVE. He has also, from his first day on earth, been occasionally possessed by a look of such deep and profound sadness that all the world’s misfortunes seem to hover in his breast, prompting him to bouts of great and troubled thought.

Pablo Almost routinely, we find this small bulldog of a man standing, in his crib, by a gate, gripping the bars tightly, his eyes glaring half-conspiratorially, half-desperately, tickled by his accomplishment, horrified that he has no earthly idea what to do next. Pablo’s earliest characteristic (after the Michelin Man phase ended) was gregariousness, and he still has it by the bucketful. But his intensity has crept up on us; the boy is a force. He seems destined to be a great teddy bear of a man, whose unbidden hugs sing loudly of human warmth and fearlessness. Pablo bounds forward. He was the first to sit, the first to crawl, and now the first to stand. He stands with authority and surveys the land, both that within his kingdom, and that beyond the gates of his captivity. He has a ceaseless desire for MORE: more space, more agitation, more food, more snuggles. He loves hard, and can be easily disappointed. He seems at this young age to have a greater capacity for mischief than his brothers, as evidenced by the devilish grin he flashes your way before eating a leaf, or poking a clone, or yanking with all of his might on some dangling conveyance of electrical force. Despite his frenetic nature, Pablo loves sleep more than anyone I’ve met. Sure he fights the initial confinement to his crib; but give the boy a small peck on his neck, and his head tilts back, his eyes gently roll upward, and he smiles in such a way that sleep’s great seductive beauty is instantly and forever explained.

Levi Is it overstating the matter, or too baldly biased, for me to claim that Levi restores my faith in human goodness? He is neither so lost in the world of sounds and silences as his scrappy philosopher brother Satch, nor so desperate to break the sound barrier as his bruiser brother Pabs. But he is possessed of a deep and ageless understanding, a feeling for his fellow humans that has heated me, on occasion, to the melting point. Catch his glance from across the room and he will shine you such a simple, honest grin that all life’s rot tallies nought. Let him hear the baritone bawl of Pablo, or Satchel’s anguished tenor torch song, and watch him first gaze sympathetically, then extend his arm and rest his hand gently on his brother’s brow. See the sheer delight that inhabits every particle of his being when confronted with a four-legged friend or foe. Levi tends to eschew the rivalry that burns amidst his fiery brothers (they may yet grow up to be Coldmeister and Heatmeister, though I hope it turns out otherwise), preferring instead to gaze curiously at their antics, to follow them in war and peace, to laugh at their triumphs and balm their failures. If current trends continue, I imagine Levi with a far greater than average capacity to listen, and an even more worthy capacity to love in the rarest way: trusting, uncomplicated, and thoroughly genuine. I once thought he’d grow up to be the boss, but now I think he’ll be the man in whom the boss confides.

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Entry filed under: update.

Celebration day! Triple delight

1 Comment Add your own

  • 1. Mag  |  November 11, 2009 at 9:20 pm

    Wow! Beautiful, perfect word pictures of those incredible little guys. May you always know and understand your boys as well as you do now. And you, my big little boy, you make your mama so proud.

    Reply

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