Owen stayed home from his daycare program last week – things weren’t working well with his digestive tract, it just seemed wise.
We had a peaceful time all day, doing nothing mostly except sip chicken broth. A cold, very blustery winter day, and both of us feeling a little under the weather. It was good to hang out on the rug by the block box and then read aloud at the sunny kitchen table.
I’ve been reading Ice Whale by Jean Craighead George aloud to Owen since Christmas. It’s hard to tell if he likes it. Owen responds to verbal communications more when there are familiar repeated texts. It seems as though he doesn’t “hear” unfamiliar voices from unfamiliar books, movies, or people. So I plan to read the book to him a couple of times and see if he grabs on. He may be enjoying it very much. Even though he hides his head under the blanket or turns his back, he does have a listening energy about him. I was attracted to the book by its cover illustration, a breaching bowhead. Whales seem connected to Owen for several reasons. First because of Chaos, his long-ago inflatable orca friend (if you haven’t met Chaos, see About section), but also because both Owen and whales are mysterious creatures, swimming through life communicating in unusual ways.
Later in that day, during a brief venture out into the cold wind, Owen and I walked up the hill to the school where kids were running about shrieking at dismissal time. Owen, happy and energized, hunted around at the edges of a gravel parking lot for useful wood chunks.
On our way back down the hill he told me “ginger peach” in meaningful tones. Ginger peach. I have not the remotest idea what Owen was referencing with those words. However it seemed like an excellent suggestion.
Back in the kitchen I located the last quart of summer peaches. I found a nub of fresh ginger in the bottom of the fridge, and grated it over each bowl. We enjoyed our gingered peaches grinning conspiratorially over spoons.