Bedtime Conversation: 5 Year Old Edition

Sonic

Oksana: "I don't like when Sonic catches bugs. Well, I like when she catches OTHER bugs, but not when she catches moths." 


Me: "Why is that? You like moths?"


O: "Yeah. They're little and cute. Do you remember that one time when Sarah was over and she found a REALLY BIG moth?"


Me: "I sure do. It was big!"


O: "Yup. And part of it glowed red."


Me: "uhh... I... don't remember that part."

O: "it did! It was on the tail. Well not like a tail like Sonic has, but you know. Maybe that's it's butt."

Me: "Could be."

O: "And if it was a girl moth, it would have little boobs too."

Cecropia moth in our yard!
Not pictured: glowing red tail. Or tiny boobs.

Sarah and the giant moth.

Tea With The Dead

When someone you love dies, it leaves a scar somewhere deep inside. A huge, twisted, knotted, UGLY scar. The immediate pain might fade over the years, but the scar never really goes away. Sometimes, when the weather is right and the rain comes a’callin and you pass by that Place You Used To Go or hear That One Song on the radio, the scar twists and an ache takes hold of your heart and the pain resurfaces. 

When my good friend died, we were so very young. She was not quite 25. I was 23. She was in my dream the other night. I used to dream of her frequently, but not so much anymore. I like to think that those dream appearances are visits from her, wherever she is. I don’t remember what we talked about during our visit. I didn’t even really remember that I dreamt of her until I heard a song on the radio today, not even a song I associate with her specifically, but she came to mind, unbidden, and there it was, a wisp of a memory of a dream. And I reflected, as I sometimes do, on our friendship and what it meant to me, and what it may have meant to her. We were young; we didn’t think so at the time, but we were. Looking back on my early twenties now, we were so very young. Still figuring out where we were going in life, what kind of people we were, what kind of adults we were going to be. Still grappling with insecurities and jealousies and friendships gone awry and all of the drama and trappings of post-high school, new-adult life. I think about things I heard after she passed away, worries I never knew she might have had, issues I had no inkling may have existed. I like to think that, if she had lived, those worries and issues would have been laid to rest over time and our friendship would have endured. Thrived. That we would have grown together, through marriage and parenting and friendships and loves and life. I like to picture us sitting together in a cafe now, looking back on that time in our lives and laughing over how silly we were to get worked up over so many things that seemed so large but were really so very insignificant.

I like to think that somewhere in the universe, a version of She and a version of Me are having a good cup of tea and a great conversation.

Even if that somewhere is only in my barely-remembered dreams.

Death Spasm Party

I don't often videoblog, largely because I tend to be much better at writing stories than relaying them orally. However, my friend Melly videotaped me telling this story that I LOVE when we were at the Golden Nugget the other day. So I stole the video from her and am uploading it for your viewing pleasure. Prepare to be horrified at the terrible state in which I let myself leave the house.

This story took place in the summer of 2003. For a long time we referred to it as the Jackopede of DOOOOOM story, so named due to the Michael Jackson Thriller-esque dance moves that Caitlin and I would bust out whenever we tried to explain the frantic spasms of the millipede. I was seated during this performance of the story, so there was less frantic spasming on my part; let's just title it Kristi And Caitlin VS The Thousand-Legger.



And just because I can... here's a photo of Caitlin re-enacting the Jackopede Dance of DOOOOM a few months after the original event took place.



The smackdown took place in that very living room, just a few feet from where Caitlin is standing. Back in my Apartment of Solitude, the only apartment that was MINE ALL MINE (even though I had three different friends pass through as short term 'roommates' throughout the time I lived there, and it was wonderful to have their company for as long as they wanted to stay!). God I miss that place sometimes.