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Monday, May 4


That's me this week. Sometimes there are no words. There is my son. Sprawled on the couch, watching TV, with the puppy stretched out along his side. The puppy is on his back, his paws dancing in dreams of play. Just an ordinary night. But it's not. Because my son lives 3000 miles away and this is just one week. One week for us to breathe the same air and do ordinary things together. Where are the words for a Mother to explain how that coming together again feels? I have none. I just brush my fingers over his forehead when I pass by. Memorize the sight of him there with the puppy and his laptop and his iPhone, a comforter over his legs. Still a kid, despite it all. No words.

Saturday we went to the theater to see Patti LuPone and Mandy Patinkin in concert. I don't have words for that, either. I can't explain how a note sung clean and pure and deep and full can pierce your heart and bring tears to your eyes. How a woman in a pin spot with her arms raised to the sky, her fingers splayed, head thrown back, can make you hold your breath. No words.

Tomorrow, we are going to see Chorus Line. One of my favorites. I know that when they all come out at the end, singing "One", their golden costumes bouncing light, the mirrors reflecting them to infinity, the dancers lifting their top hats in the iconic counterpoint to the joy of the finale, I am going to get all floopy and misty and I won't have words for why that is, either. I mean, I know it's about dreams realized and victory against the odds and overcoming whatever it is that stands in your way and it all culminates in the cheesiest, most uplifting dance number ever staged. But I'll blog now that I won't have words for it.

The next morning, my son goes back to Friday Harbor. No words for that either.

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