naptime dispatch

i drove through mid-town today and all the trees are plummy yellow, brittle around the edges, with their black branches beginning to show. the clouds are heavy and low. it's the right kind of day for taking two sleepy boys into a warm house, carefully slipping off coats, hats and blankets, and tucking them in for naps. it's the kind of day for coffee and writing.

is there such a thing as postpartum euphoria? i feel so good, so content and peaceful, so much stronger physically than i have in months and months. the other shoe still might drop at any time, i realize...but instead of the anxious, unbalanced, sad feelings i had after ben came along, i feel so well.

peter looks like the love-child of hellboy and gary sinise. hellboy because he's still sort of red-looking. with gary sinise's nose. i have no explanation for any of that. but i love him with abandon. he's sleeping on the bed next to me as i write, occasionally winking one eye open, with his mittened fists up by his cheeks. his hair is wild and insubstantial like chick feathers. he's mellow. we spent the morning listening to coleman hawkins together and making a playlist of quiet jazz. ben went to nannie's to play mister potato head, so it was just the two of us.

for your reading pleasure, i'd like to recommend robert bly's short collection of poems called _turkish pears in august_. it's actually an illustrated chapbook of poems, which is interesting. i love the poems very much and hope somebody out there will read them too, and let me know, so we can discuss them. i need another brain to help analyze them. the imagery...hmm...

for your listening pleasure, coleman hawkins is totally wonderful. try "body and soul" or "coleman hawkins encounters ben webster."