Friday, April 29, 2005


Kaya arrived last night, about 2 inches taller, quieter, with a much clearer Kayaface and a more crystallized, more adult personality, though she’s not yet 5. She now enjoys style, loves to show off her new clothing with the bunnies and the kittens on it. Beholding these changes is one of the wonders of grandparenting: you get to see the miracle in stop motion.

But having grown up most recently and exclusively in the city, Kaya has forgotten much about darkness, which I didn’t expect. When we went outside together last night to do some fireworks it wasn’t half-hearted city dark we went into, but deep genuine country dark, that summons the strength of the eyes and the depths of the spirit. It was odd to see Kaya looking around edgily and staying close to me, trying to keep her back away from the dark and finally asking to be held, so I laughed as I held her and told her to listen to all the singing frogs - did she think they were scared? No, they were singing. Loudly.

And had she forgotten all the times we’d gone out right into this very darkness with our flashlights and walked around the mountainside looking at frogs and bugs? Hadn’t that been fun? She had to agree because it had been, so when she got her feet back on the ground again and we began to do the fireworks she felt more and more at home in the darkness and was soon running around in it waving sparklers, one in each hand. Few things are cuter than Kaya in the dark by fireworks, running around covered with kittens.

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