slow train, non-sequiter style

something is amok with ben. he's cutting molars, most likely. last night was a throw-back to the old days of ben's sleepless babyhood. he hollered at 11, 1, 3, 5 and 7:30. regular like a metronome or a freight train or a thermal geyser.

i'm cooking and cleaning in slo-mo, trying to perk up with a diet pepsi and listening to gillian welch ("soul journey") for a little sympathy. tell you what. when you feel low down and tired, there's nobody like gillian welch to invest your fatigue with a little poetry.

tonight we feast and game (is that a verb?) with church friends. i look forward to spending time with people i've liked - but not known well - for a long time. this will assuredly perk up my spirits. i wonder if anyone will play boggle with me. i like word games and love boggle, a game which andrew despises and will not play. the only other boggler i know is darci and she's gone to chicago to blow her oboe in colder climes.

ben asks to wear his hat all the time. he has that one in the picture and a striped snow hat with ear-flaps. it makes him look like an old-timey football player. a bug-eater. he says, "hat?" and points. just now andrew took him to nebraska furniture mart to see if he'll fall asleep in the stroller while andrew wheels him around.