Things That Are Orange

It's fall in San Diego, so the home fires are burning. Literally. So far we are lucky; the sun is still out in our neighborhood. But people are fleeing all over the county, David's work neighborhood has been evacuated, Jarrah's school is closed, and we are glued to the news. Endless looping lists of which houses are down, and reporters in scuba masks standing in front of flaming wooden frames. My stomach twists in knots imagining all those people losing their nests. And it's terrifying to contemplate what we would take if we had to evacuate...all the adoption paperwork, of course, and some photos...but what else? How could I fit two filing cabinets full of dissertation research in the car? Or would it perhaps be the ultimate liberating gesture to let it all go up in flames? I'm so daft these days I moaned to David, "How can we save my blog?" Still not used to this virtual thing, evidently.

The Pumpkin Patch field trip scheduled for Wednesday has been cancelled due to air quality issues, but luckily we have some freakishly cute photos of Jarrah and friends at Bates Nut Farm from last weekend. That place is like a theme park, and I mean that in a good way:


We had a fro-yo date recently with our friend Jennifer and her 1-year-old, Hadarya, and Jarrah was quite taken with the dynamic tot. At one point, she hugged her, turned to me and announced, "So cute! She's my daughter."

This weekend Jarrah had a low-grade fever and a slight cough for several days, so we were a bit house-bound and she couldn't see all her "frenz," not to mention missing a trip to visit Grandma and Pop-Pop. By today, when we stared at a screen full of orange flames all day and were boring beyond belief, she'd about had it with our monotonous lifestyle. She leaned on my leg as I alternately knit and snuck peeks at the TV.

"Jarrah, don't lean on me when I'm holding pokey bits."

"Okay. I can have my own pokey bits when I'm older?"

"Yes. When you're older."

"And I can drink coffee, and eat a bagel?"

I realized just last week that we've somehow transitioned from the thrill of Jarrah using words to communicate with us, to the pure delight of hearing her speak as a way of exploring her world. I remember attending a poetry reading where the writer read an epic piece of "Found Poetry." I liken Jarrah's awakening everyday language to found poetry. It's simple and true and lovely, and totally original.