by jkatejohnston

20 October 2013

Dear Max,

Jonah came over yesterday—Enzo’s pal. He reminds me of my grandma Clara with his strawberry blond hair and open-hearted volubility—he has a lot to say. And in no other way does he resemble a little old Norwegian lady. Now I’m wishing I’d taken some notes. Nothing remains the same when put in different words—especially not kids.[1] But they were so easy that I pretty much did my own thing, put my summer dresses away in the basement, brought up my winter jackets and fleeces, hung things to air on the clothesline, did laundry. I got so much done that at the end of the afternoon I felt like I should slip Jonah a few bucks.

At the park they rode bikes and played on the bars, and I saw Enzo hang from one hand and turn a full 360 degrees then casually drop to the ground. In case any fresh proof is needed that humans are primates.


I have a pretty horrifying backlog of notes about other stuff. (I blame the Mudrick book, though don’t imagine from that that I’m making any swift progress there either.)


Enzo: “I feel like I’m acidic matter. That means I feel like I’m acid.”


Yesterday morning after we made Enzo turn off the TV he schlepped down the hall.

Teresa: “I’m bored!”

Me: “I’m tired!”

Enzo: “What!”

Me: “My moms mock me!”

Enzo: “You’re getting payback. Two spankings and two wedgies. Each.” And as I write this note I hear Teresa in the other room explaining to Enzo that you can’t give a cat a wedgie.


Enzo: “I smell something good. I wonder what the rock stars [our neighbors] are cooking up. Probably some french fries and burgers.” And then I hear him whispering to himself, “Taco Bell…Taco Bell…”


I asked him to water the parsley since he had the hose out anyway. He gave the parsley an appraising glance. “I’ll see what I can do.” (I don’t think he ever watered it.) Later we were speculating about what sort of creature might be digging up the parsley.

Enzo: “Cursonodon.”

Me: “That sounds like a dinosaur.”

Enzo: “The great great great great great great great great [it went on for a while] great great grandfathers of a mole were actually reptiles. But they have one little characteristic in common and that’s the arms.”


And now this morning as I’m writing this Enzo wakes up. It’s dark. Heavy feet down the hall. “This day is boring. What am I going to do today? Nothing.”

“It is amazing how much of sentiment consists in expression. Nothing but hard science remains the same when put in different words.” (Boswell in Search of a Wife 275.)