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Utopian Turtletop. Monsieur Croche's Bête Noire. Contact: turtletop [at] hotmail [dot] com
Sunday, December 30, 2007
The next-door-neighbor 4-year-old passed the day with us as her parents went off on an outing, which she decided to skip in favor of playing with our son. I took them to an art museum. They pointed things out to each other in the pictures. On the walks there and back they chased around and played. We stopped and got hot chocolate, and I dozed off at our table as they made up a game with the art post cards I had let them pick out at the museum store. The girl’s parents got home just as our dinner was about to go on the table, so her dad brought over beers and joined us for a chat as we ate. Afterwards it was time for them to go home, and our son’s friend cried, so sad that the party was ending. And I thought of Ed Wynn as Uncle Albert crying at the end of the tea-party-on-the-ceiling in Mary Poppins, so sad that the party was ending, and then I cried too. Why must the party ever end? I need more sleep.
* * *
Speaking of regrettable partings, Ange Mlinko’s 6-month blogging gig for Poetry magazine is over. Her farewell post is a deeply resonant juxtaposition of photos and text, calm and lovely and generous.
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