Today we had a small family gathering to celebrate the baby's first birthday.
He ran a fever all day, and refused to eat his smash cake. But he acted perfectly sweet, and the toddler had a good time playing with his cousins.
Afterward my mother-in-law took the toddler home for a sleepover, the baby went down for a nap, and my brother and nephews and I drove downtown to an architectural salvage store and antique co-op. I bought a painted Mason jar, a rusty chocolate tin from the 1920s, a glass mosaic jewelry dish and a pack of vintage gift wrap. My nephews bought an antique small animal trap for no good reason I could discern. They taught me about Pokemon on the drive home.
That night I rocked the baby and read Trash to Treasure Papermaking by Arnold E. Grummer. I used to have one of his paper making kits; I wonder if it's still stashed in my parents' basement. I never got excited about the prospect of making stationary with little dried flowers in the paper pulp. But the projects in this book are a little more modern, and much more enticing.
I'm determined to have an art day tomorrow. Or at least an art half-hour. I've been craving it for weeks. All this writing has my brain starved for more visual pursuits. Maybe I'll dig out my paints and make some patterned papers for collage. Or maybe I'll make some prints on the Gelli plate. Really, I'd settle for anything as long as I'm making something with my hands that doesn't involve words.
I confess, I didn't think about today's march until I saw the photos on Facebook. Thousands upon thousands of women filling the streets in cities across the country. I've been avoiding writing about politics because the topic fills me with a mess of raw emotions: fear, anger, disappointment, frustration. I don't have it all figured out yet. But I know that seeing those women gave me the first flicker of hope I've had in a long time, and I am so grateful to them for putting themselves out there. I wish I'd thought to join them. I wish I'd brought my sons.