We Walk Among the Golden Aspen

 Dear Luca,

    I should have said,  I walk, you sleep among the golden aspen.

What a stunning day it was today, with the aspen showing off their bright yellows in the midst of the deep green pine trees.  You fussed for about 20 minutes, a little longer that usual, but it was clear that you were sleepy, so I knew it would be a matter of time. We walked up and down the road for about an hour and covered about 2 miles, which is our goal for Wednesdays.  It can be a busy road, even though it's off the beaten path, but to a one, the cars and vans and trucks all slow down when they see an old lady pushing a stroller, or pausing to sip some water. Most people wave, and I smile back, not taking my hands off the stroller, ever!

    I learned some more about you today, as you and I continue to get to know one another. As usual, you weren't happy to see me, but I know that has more to do with your knowing your mother is about to leave than any idea you have about me. But, as I said above, we embarked on our usual journey. You quieted down when you heard a jet roar past. You looked up to the sky, looked around, and started to close your eyes. I began singing in my incomparable voice:

I'm leaving on a jet plane.  

Don't know when I'll be back again.

Oh, girl, I hate to go...

 With apologies to John Denver, I couldn't remember much more of the song, so I would hum and sing the words and began to wonder about "jet plane." We never say "jet plane" anymore, because for most of us, that all there is when we travel. But at the time, there was also the possibility of leaving on a prop plane, or a turbo-prop plane, although neither of those terms would have fit into the melody of the song.

    Anyway. About what I learned today. When we came back home, your eyes were wide open, but I left you in your stroller, while I went to the bathroom. You were talking to yourself and quite happy for about 10 minutes, and then, as you began to get fussy, but before you started to cry, I unbuckled you and lifted you out. As usual, you were not happy, and your fussing turned to crying as I walked around the house with you. Then, sooner than I did last week, I put you on your tummy on the blanket, and your world changed. Even though the frog refused to sing this time (battery?), there were little colored disks chained together and a rather complicated book dealing with words and numbers in special categories, like clothing, for example. 

    And so it dawned on me! You don't want me to walk around with you, rubbing your back and trying to comfort you. You want some action. You want to try to crawl (almost!). You want to see things and touch things and interact with your world. Your dad came home early and brought you a toy that's a steering wheel and dashboard full of things you can punch to hear noise and music. You sat up and banged on everything while your dad and I talked about the coming visit of your Aunt Julie and your Aunt Catherine, his sisters, who should be here next week this time, especially to meet you, their nephew.

    My trip back down the canyon (I'm getting so much better at backing out of your driveway!) was peaceful and beautiful, as I held the images of your playing on that little blanket in my mind.