The Cottonwood is probably my favorite tree of all, even though I’m quite allergic to them. The majesty and dance of a mature Cottonwood just makes my soul smile–maybe a remnant of childhood evenings at Grandma and Grandpa Knox’s. So, for some strange reason I got up this morning and jumped on my bike without a plan (since Anne says I’m getting fat). 🙂 I pedaled up the Valley Road, past many young and old Cottonwoods, singing and dancing their soft song in the light morning current. I’ll share this haiku in their honor:
restless in soft breeze song of the cottonwood tree catching low sun's glow
We need new locks on our doors. The kind that are really high up and can’t be unlocked by a child. A child who is sleeping, and walking about the house (and who knows where else).
Imagine my mixture of surprise, fear and anxiety as I’m rushing toward our kitchen Sunday night, right after my wife shakes me awake with a terrified look on her face. “Joe. Someone’s coming in our house!” She heard the door handle shake, and then the deadbolt unlock. As I was stumbling my way to the kitchen in my underwear, I heard the door swing open and someone walk in. “Hello. Who’s there?!” I demanded (it was the only thing I could think of on the spot, OK). As I came around the corner, ready to bust out some ninja skills I was sure were inside me somewhere, I saw my middle daughter looking at me with a blank stare. When I asked what she was doing, she suddenly got angry and stomped off to her bedroom saying “leave me alone!”
Who knows how long she was in the garage. Or what she was doing. The lights were all on, the big door open to the summer night outside, and the door to the van left open. After she stomped off, Mesa came back into the living room confused and wondering what her parents were doing. She said she had to go out to the garage to get a bucket for her feet. (!?) Then she laid down on the couch with me and went right to sleep. She remembered none of it by morning.
Until we get some new locks, I’ll keep propping a chair against both doors so at least we’ll hear her moving them before she takes another midnight vacation. Any tips for newly discovered sleepwalking parents?