~:: Tales of Santa Fe Pt. 6 ::~

Here, we have Max and Emily.

Emily is visiting after church.  I had been sitting in the children’s Primary room earlier in the day when Emily came in with her mother.  Emily caught sight of Max and her face immediately blazed up with joy.  “MAX!”  she shouted gleefully, arms open.  Max, silent as ever, managed a weak smile.  “Can I sit with Max?” Emily asked, whirling to locate her mother.  But no, poor Emily had to sit with her own class.  That brilliant face, once such a flame of passionate joy, began to sag.  The light went out of it.  The eyes got huge and began to shine around the bottom.  Little capillaries around her nose began to swell, and then the torrent came.

“Be reasonable,” I told her.  “He’s too old for you.  Look – he’s almost seven.”

But here they are now, together at Max’s house.  Max has some weird graphics program up on the computer (this is why they wouldn’t let him into the Santa Fe Waldorf school).  The program uses the computer camera to take your image, then splits it into mirror parts so you become your own Rorschach test.  Emily, captivated, thinks this is the coolest idea ever.

Max’s mother, who only appears to be asking Emily’s mother to call her later.

Emily, still it mirror-me mode, goes airborne.  I wish I’d seen the rorschach version of this, but as you can see, I was too busy trying to catch her before gravity did.

The truth I have to share with you here is that the rest of this story has nothing to do with Emily.  But with other friends who came to visit on the lovely day before the ice and snow came and the natural gas leaked out of Santa Fe and left all the people there to freeze nearly to death.  So ironic, the warm before the storm.

See?  What a nice day.  This is what xeri (xeno works, too) landscaping looks like in dead winter through a triple glazed French door.

This is the hair raising part.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen hair do this on a trampoline before.  But then, I forbad my children ever to jump on one.  Of course, Gin bought one when she grew up.  Cam did too.  This must mean something.  I haven’t seen Gin jump on it yet, herself –

The little guy is cute as they come, and I can say this even though the first thing he did when we met was spit at me.  Not actually “at” me.  He was pretty far away – at least six feet.  But I know the gesture was meant for me, because a moment later, beaming, he said, “I spit at you!”  I can prove this.  I was video taping at the time.

His father is a real dyed in the wool mountain-man-forest service-archeologist.   And charming.  He did not spit when we met.

And no, Max is not under the influence.  Much as it might appear otherwise.

The End (of part 6)

The rest of this will raise no hair.