A few good things

Tonight is my last of six nights alone.

On day five, I hit a wall -- a patience wall, which turned out to be a hormonal wall; a disappointment wall when yet another house I thought we'd live in didn't work out; a tired-of-waking-up-in-the-night with small coughing people wall -- a wall.

But this morning I woke to rain, and Eden's feet against my stomach, and her little voice saying, "my nose is snuffly."

And this evening, driving home from a three year old birthday party where we didn't know anyone and I could watch young parents stand in a garage drinking beer as an utter parody of young parents standing at a birthday party drinking beer, I made two wrong turns, and after my second U-turn Silas said, "well that awfully went well."

And tonight, I ended up playing Spit -- a game I haven't played in close to 20 years (!) -- at a friend's house. When we sat down, I couldn't begin to remember how the game worked -- how many cards? how do we lay them out? who starts? how do you win? But as soon as we started, my hands remembered instantly. A poet I studied with once talks about how memories are lodged in our bodies that we can only access through motion. She dances an hour every day to dislodge hers. I have only experienced this a few times: Last year I went roller skating for the first time in ages, and as soon as I hit a groove circling the rink, there she was -- 4th grade me with all her hope and wondering, circling the gymnasium in the sparkling lights. Tonight sitting cross-legged in socks with my girlfriend, racing to slap the smallest pile, I felt that same way.