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Not too soon, little lady

She is not yet two years old and already she is rehearsing the steps which will carry her into the wider world.

Sarah, playing in the backyard in the first moments of our Oregon Summer, finds a toy-sized Campbell Soup lunchbox and figures out how to work the tiny metal latch, sealing up inside whatever contents make for a delicious make-believe snack.

But this is not enough.  She searches elsewhere and finds a doll’s backpack, slipping one strap over her shoulder just as she’s seen her sister do.  Then, my wife’s keys gripped gleefully in her tiny fist, she waves with her other hand and says “Bye!” and “Pea-Schoo”.

Her daddy smiles broadly and only winces a little.

Ed Stetzer on making family the priority

How do you balance family life with work, hobbies, personal passions? Do you feel like you are living a good balance? Feel a little wobbly? As an "entrepreneur" in ministry, my time constantly has dozens of demands on every moment. Solid friends and mentors help me to remember what's important and share good ideas with me about how to actually live those priorities. It ain't easy, but it's worth it.

Here's a guy I follow, Ed Stetzer, on trying to keep life and ministry balanced. Read through his thoughts and see if you find them as refreshing, challenging, and balanced as I did.  Here are some highlights:

First, with Donna there is a brief list of how I prioritize my relationship with Donna:

• My wife is second only to Jesus in my life
  
• My wife and I talk and pray about how to balance ministry and life. I give her veto power over all ministry related issues. If she is higher priority than ministry, she much have veto power of it. If she is more important than ministry, she has priority over it.
  
• My wife can change our ministry focus if she wants. We have agreed that, at any point, if she thinks what I do hurts our marriage she can ask me to leave pastoral ministry and I will. If she is more important than ministry, she has priority over it.
  
• My wife approves individual activities. That's right. If my wife wants me to not be an interim; I stop. Or take an event. Or write a book. Or whatever. She keeps me balanced and need her to do that. If she is more important than ministry, she has priority over it.
  
• I plan my schedule to be home with my family. I am surprised to see that not everyone appreciates that. But, if there is a three day event and they want me to speak each morning, I ask to speak three times in one day.
  

Second, I work hard to make my family a priority in my life.

• I don't have any hobbies. I used to, but not with a ministry and three small children. A friend of mine once told me that you can't be a church planter and a good golfer-- you don't have time for both. At least for me, I can't be a good husband / father, do what God has called me to do, and play golf, or fish or religiously watch football. But there is one exception - and this is important - if the kids want to do it, it is our hobby and another opportunity for investment.
  
• Every week, Donna and I do a date night. People complain they don't have time. Neither do I. No one has free time just lying around. You aren't going to find time, you have to make it. if it's important enough you will make the time.
  
• When I am at work, I work to get things done so I don't have to work at home. People ask me, "why are you always doing your email and writing on the road, why don't you just relax?" The answer is simple, I don't want to relax in San Diego, I want to relax in Nashville. So, I get the work done on the road and when I am home, I am home.
  
• Every Saturday, mom stays home and my kids and I go out for breakfast, usually at Cracker Barrel, or as you can see if you follow me on Twitter, "the garage sale with food."
  
• I try to take the kids with me on trips as often as possible. They love coming along. And when I am speaking for one hour in Denver, it is a good day of fun for one of my daughters.
  

Was it really that bad? (Video from our ice storm in Salem)

Rugrats on the move: Sarah begins her sojourn as a biped

Sarah has decided she's tired of abrasions on her knees and elbows. She's decided to follow her sister's example and move fully into the bipedal stage. For a moment there, we thought she'd decided to skip walking and go straight for driving. After all, at eight months, she fell in love with a little car toy and crawled around making "vroom" noises with it. After that, she loved nothing better than to ride on the toddler car, especially when her sister pushed it at 30 mph around the house.

But lately, she's taken to using that same car as training wheels. And very recently, she's let go of any aids, thrown caution to the wind, and burst into the walking scene with a very stylish wobble. Take a look see.

"Isn't she a little young to drive?"

Well, looks like Sarah is ready for her first driving lesson.  For the last several days, she's been crawling after Katelyn's toy cars and then driving them all over the floor making "vroom" noises the whole time.

We tried telling her she's barely old enough to crawl, let alone play with big kid toys.  She looked at us and said, sternly, "bah-BAH!" and drove that purple coupe right on down the hall.

Don't worry.  We signed her up for a driver's ed course this summer.

Morning practices for a good day

Our routines shape so much of who we are, both for the good and the not-so-good.  I'm one of those people who loves his morning routine, and I love even more to fiddle with it, chasing the perfect beginning to that elusive "good day."  With years of experience in such fiddling, I have discovered that how you begin the day has a lot to do with your perceptions of that day at its end.

Here are the things with which (ideally) I'd begin my day:

• Breakfast
• Coffee
• Prayer
• Engagement with the Scriptures
• A GTD daily review
• Exercise
• Writing

When leaving my morning routine and beginning whatever that day holds, I'd like to feel unhurried, fully submitted to God's purposes for my life in general and for that particular day.  I'd like to have the echo of God's voice following me as I heard it in His Scriptures.  I'd like to feel confident about what needed doing that day, as well as feeling confident I was moving toward my larger goals for the week, month, year, and lifetime.

For the sake of contrast, here's how I've been starting my day:

• Breakfast
• Coffee
• Google Reader, catching up on various blogs/sites while shoveling cereal in my face
• Rushing off to start my day, often (but not always) getting in one or more of the following:
  • Prayer (sometimes including some time in the Scriptures) -- usually happens 4-5 days per week.  Less often on non-work, non-week days.
  • GTD daily review -- usually happens 3-4 days a week.  Never on non-work, non-week days.

I have rarely been getting at all to exercise or to writing.

My big pitfalls lately have been:

• Tiredness.  This kills exercise first.  When I'm blasted at the end of the day and have a few spare minutes, I hardly feel like climbing on the treadmill or busting out pushups.  Also drains the goodness from otherwise good mornings; prayers seem dry, Scripture reading hard when I'm tired.
• Creatively spent.  Preaching every week as well as constant attention to envisioning the future tends to drain your batteries on creativity.  I face a blank page now and then, and decide to just surf blogs instead of writing.  Input instead of output.
• No home office.  I love my youngest daughter dearly.  But she stole my office.  In order to have a semblance of a contiguous morning, I often have to leave the house for a coffee shop or something similar.  This adds transit times and distractions, not to mention paying "rent" by buying coffee.
• Feeling overwhelmed with to-do's.  This has the effect of pressing on my morning time, and I find myself wading into the email or task storm earlier than I should, rather than spending adequate time gaining prayerful, godly perspective or giving time to things which energize and sustain me.

I've got a few ideas of things to do to take my morning routine to the next step.  But before I share, any of you have any creative ideas that you use to get your day started off right?

A friend of mine, and a hero.

Okay, not that kind of hero, the kind in the spandex tights who utters one liners while blissfully ignoring the hail of bullets rebounding from his steely fore-thrust chest.

No, I'm talking about the ordinary knucklehead I met in high school who decided the smartest move he could make was to train for combat journalism and head into our country's most notorious warzone.  The kind who straps on a bunch of heavy gear in a dusty desert and works to shape his country's understanding of what's happening there.

Not only am I proud of this guy with whom I've hiked, played D&D, took road trips to California, and watched Alien vs. Predator, I value his perspective on the reality of Iraq.  He is neither an optimist ("everything we do here is working if only the media would tell the truth!") nor a pessimist ("why are we here? Nothing we do matters, I just want to go home.") but simply a realist.  As a journalist, he has a broader view of what's going on over there, but carrying a rifle and riding around in humvees and dodging rocket-propelled grenades tends to ground your perspective a bit more on what's really going on.

Eric, you're serving your country proudly and there are many here who admire what you and your fellow soldiers are accomplishing.  Serve out the remainder of your tour with determination and distinction, and then get back to the States.  You've been a long time gone.

Sleepy NaNo

Okay, so I came out of the starting blocks with NaNo pretty well, but then a six-day trip to Jonesboro, Arkansas shut me down for a while.

The good news is, I only have to write 4,220 words every day for the next ten days to win.

Oh, except tomorrow doesn't count, since I'll be too turkey-groggy for much keyboarding. I'd re-calculate my word count again for you, but then you'd have nothing to do while waiting for your turkey to thaw.

For those few who continue the NaNo nonsense, keep up the great work!

Happy Thanksgiving!

Drift Creek Falls in a kangaroo pouch: Recovering the lost art of hiking in our family

Had a chance to get in a little hiking, what with the invention of kangaroo pouches for the little ones. Melissa and I enjoyed a short fall hike in the coast range up at Drift Creek Falls. When I say short, I mean really short: the hike from the trailhead is just at one mile, and there isn't any dramatic elevation change. Beautiful scenery to look at on the way, and a dramatic end to the hike: Drift Creek Falls is a precipitous drop of 75 feet, and the folks up at the Forest Service were nice enough to run us up a 240 foot suspension bridge to scare the hornswoggle out of anybody with a fear of heights. This is the kind that you can jump up and down on just to see the look on your wife's face. And then expect to limp home.

If you've got a few extra minutes (like 200) on your way to or from Lincoln City on Highway 18, check out Drift Creek Falls. You'll be glad for the trip!

90 years and going strong

Yesterday my grandmother celebrated her 90th birthday in Salem with a huge roomfull of friends and family, some coming from as far away as Eugene. It was a surprise party--though she handled the room and all the attention like a movie star born for the role.

She was ecstatic to see so many friends gathered in one place and she enjoyed showing off her two sons, grandkids, and great grandkids like a professional tour guide.

Congratulations Grandma on 90 years!

Katelyn loves her little sister

Katelyn is already learning to love her little sister. When she first met Sarah in the hospital, she was slightly more interested in a package of crackers on mom's bed table than she was in the strange tiny squirming baby mom was holding. We weren't quite sure what the first few weeks would hold.

Katelyn is very gentle with her sister, trying to smooth her hair, giving her tiny kisses, and generally managing not to trip and fall on Sarah while she's in the swing or in our arms.

She comes to the baby's side and asks to "holdyou", her one-word request with both arms outstretched toward little Sarah. Very carefully, we'll put Sarah in her arms, and Katelyn has the look in her eyes she always gets when she's basking in pure joy.

We've heard all the horror stories about big brothers and sisters being pretty irritated that there is now a new mouth to feed. So far, Katelyn has been great, though a little more clingy. That's been good for us, reminding us to spend extra time with her making her feel that we still love her even though there is a new chair at our dinner table. It's going to be a while before she feels settled, having to share her parents and all, but already she's the big sister, taking her responsibilities seriously.

The x-factor will come the first time Sarah decides to reach for one of Katelyn's toys. At that point, we may have to call in an impartial third-party negotiator. Perhaps Samuel Shore will be available for the job?

"Ow, hey, my face doesn't work!" Sarah on her first day at home

I love the look on a newborn's face when they can't quite figure out how to work their eyes.

Sarah will be crying or sleeping, then suddenly, she'll get this look on her face like "Whoa, something's out there. What the heck am I looking at? Boy, he looks funny..."

The best part about second children is that you get to actually enjoy them rather than spending every waking minute frantically trying to figure out what bizarre activity will stop the angry child from crying. This time around, we've got a little more experience and so far, we've gotten along great.

We got to come home early from the hospital and have already spent one full day at home playing with our girls. We've already taken them on walks around the neighborhood and to Wal-Mart. Hey, some things just can't wait.

Stay tuned for more adventures of the growing Campbell family!

A new Campbell joins us at 9:51! Welcome to the world, Sarah Elizabeth!

A whirlwind trip, right on schedule, had us in the hospital by 7:00a, admitted and waiting for our turn at the delivery room. Just in time for some family to come in with well wishes, our time slot opened up, and Melissa was whisked off to prep for her c-section. Summer and I waited outside, and then I went to sit beside Melissa behind the scary blue curtain (to keep my mind off things, I like to pretend that the doctors and nurses were on the other side playing a round of Candyland).

Praise God! Just like that, at 9:51a, we were holding our beautiful Sarah Elizabeth, an opinionated and cute little girl that was ready for lunch 30 seconds after birth. I like a girl who knows what she wants! The official stats: 7lbs 6oz., 19.5 inches long. Just right!

We're now waiting in the recovery room for our accommodations in the gorgeous Salem Hospital birthing center. Sarah has taken right to her mommy and daddy, just like she'd been as excited to see us as we were to see her.

Stay tuned for more news on the Campbell family front.

In moments, a little child's arrival

How long we have been waiting to meet you, little Sarah! We can hardly believe that nine months have passed so quickly. Now, with only hours to go, we await the next dawn when we'll hold you in our arms for the first time.

It is strange to think that we will go to bed tonight as a family of three, and tomorrow night as a family of four. Your big sister can't wait to hold you, and judging by from the practice she's been getting with her dolls lately, to bounce you to sleep saying "sshhhh...". Don't worry, we'll make sure her excitement doesn't become too much for you. And when you're ready, she'll show you her kitchen, her stuffed animals, and her push-car. Just maybe, she'll invite you to come swing with her in the back yard.

Sleep warm tonight little one, a different world awaits you in the morning. We'll be there to hold your hand every step of the way.

High velocity week followed by ocean-view peace

Just got done with a tremendous week of high-powered church activities. A group of kindly Southerners from Arkansas came up to our neck of the woods to help us with events in a local park here in Salem. We spent two days putting on events for kids: building bird houses, hosting scavenger hunts, painting faces, playing games and sports. Best of all, we got to know a bunch of our neighbors, friendly folks from all over the local area. We were warmly received and one of the people in the neighborhood even went so far as to give us a basket of cookies as a thank-you. What a blessing!

But come the end of the week, we were all exhausted. Melissa, very very pregnant, was on her feet half the week and ready for a serious break. In what was nothing short of a divine blessing, one of our friends offered us a getaway on the beach for one night since her mom (who normally lives there) was going to be out of town. We jumped at the chance, spending a night listening to the waves not far from the cabin and generally enjoying all the peace the Oregon coast has to offer. I can still smell the ocean air even in the midst of another breakneck week. Thank God for the little blessings!

Seven Years and Blessings

Seven years today have passed since the day that Melissa and I were married.

Last night we watched the video from our wedding day and we were dumbstruck by the accumulated change taken place in seven years. So much has happened since: we have grown so much as people, we have shared so many adventures, and our relationship has become something so much more than we had hoped. We barely know those two foolish kids who entered into a marriage covenant before family and God.

Never underestimate what God can do in the hearts of two starstruck lovers who grab one another by the hand and leap into the future, prepared by vow, nurtured by joy, preserved by self-sacrifice, seasoned by adventure.

Monsters in the Garbage Cans, pt. II

(read part I)

Edward came to the foot of ladder, setting his feet on what seemed like damp stone. The pungent scent of garbage still lingered, but it was no worse than it was at the top of the ladder. Even down here, he could still hear the bubble gum music ponderously thudding along. Somewhere in the distance, water trickled into a drain. Only the strongest rays of light braved these depths, leaving Edward enveloped in umbrous shadow; and though he could see nothing around him, he found that he was not much afraid. Better here than stuck in a fashion shop all afternoon.

In the darkness he searched his pockets, discovering there a Super Joe action figure he had brought with him. Edward smiled the smile of false competence, as if he had known all along that he would find himself in such a predicament. You see, Super Joe was a large action figure whose main weapon against Terron was a fearsome chest-mounted laser cannon. And since most toy manufacturers frowned upon the distribution of such armaments to small children (at least in the United States), they substituted a weak flashlight beam. Edward switched it on and held the figure before him like something part way between a crucifix and a fully-articulated lantern.

The dim light revealed the walls to be formed of smooth concrete, cold and dusty. The floor was rougher and every few feet, Edward had to step around a wide, shallow puddle of muddy water. He walked along in his small bubble of light for several minutes, taking a turn here or there. He fancied he could not become lost, since the route did not branch at any point that he could see. It did not take him long to leave behind a whole world of malls and fashion shops, pretzel vendors and pet stores; so easily we forget ourselves in the solitude of our private journeys.

A faint scratching sound reached his ears from somewhere far ahead. Edward stopped to listen; the scratching reminded him of the sound of his spaniel's dull nails on the hardwood floors of the kitchen. He wondered to himself what sort of dog would wander tunnels like this. He supposed it could drink from the muddy puddles, but who filled its bowl? As he continued toward it, the sound grew louder until he began to wonder why he did not see the dog's eyes glimmering in Joe's light beam. Edward stopped, listening again for the sound. The scratching sound had stopped. And as he looked around, he realized he had come into some sort of small chamber, circular in shape, with walls which bent in and up like a funnel.

As he was looking up into the darkness, he caught a brief flash of light accompanied by the sound of a small, rusty metal door swinging open. Before the light disappeared again, he caught a glimpse of something falling toward him. He instinctively covered his head with his hands. Just in time too, for he was struck by something which left him warm, wet, and sticky—what was that smell? Coffee?

He found where he had dropped Super Joe, and shined the dim light around him. It was indeed coffee—and there on the floor near him was a soggy Starbucks cup. "Yuck, who drinks that stuff?" he said to himself, utterly unaware that opinions might be subject to change years hence.

He looked up again, wondering where the cup had come from. The coffee was not hot, the cup had not been full—then it occurred to him: the tiny metal door above him was the door to a metal garbage can. Which meant—

Something grey and bristling walked toward him out of the darkness, its dull nails scratching along the floor. Edward backed away until he bumped into the cold concrete wall. As it crept closer, he could see a shaggy head in a mass of grey fur, and above a wide mouth of square white teeth peered two large yellow eyes. They blinked at him. Edward did not know if he should be frightened or reassured by its appearance—it was something of a cross between a chubby wolf and a furry bean bag. And those white teeth smiling (snarling?) at him, none of it gave any clear indication of the beast's intentions.

Edward waited in silence, holding Super Joe before him like a talisman. And then the beast did something else unexpected—it spoke! In a gurgling voice, as if speaking from the bottom of a pool, it said, "Come ex-plorin', did it? What does it want?"

Edward frowned and looked around. Was it talking to him? Edward had never been refered to as an 'it' before. In a weak voice, he ventured, "Are you talking to me?"

The beast jumped back, startled. With wide eyes, it asked, "It speaks? A greeder speaks, now that makes for silly con-versation!"

"Who—what are you?"

"Sogga-Moffin, that's my name. And that's what I am; I eats the greeders' toss-aways. Do greeders have names? Something to eats?"

"My name is Edward." He hesitated, then added, "You don't plan to eat me do you?"

A sound like a clogged garbage disposal echoed around the chamber. After Edward realized that it was laughing, he calmed down a little. It said, after it had finished its grating laughter, "Silly Edwards; why would a Sogga-Moffin eats a greeder? Then Edward give no more eats, Sogga-Moffins go hungry."

Edward breathed a sigh of relief. Spying the coffee cup on the floor, he pointed to it. "What about that? Do you eat those?"

The shaggy beast turned its head, and upon seeing the cup, it opened its wide mouth, revealing three rows of blocky white teeth. A slimy tongue ending in three little knuckle-knobs unfurled from behind the teeth. With this strange and disgusting appendage, Sogga-Moffin lifted the coffee cup to its mouth and began chewing slowly like a cow.

Edward shook his head, half amazed, half disgusted. "Where is this place?"

The bristly brows above its dark eyes knitted together in what looked like a frown. It continued chewing for several long moments, and then let out a moist and fragrant belch. "Not polite to talks while Sogga-Moffin chews. Where, greeder asks? How it comes to Dis-kardia and doesn't know where it is?"

"Diskardia? I've never heard of such a place. Do the janitors know it exists? I always thought they just emptied the garbage cans."

Sogga-Moffin looked at him quizzically. "Sogga-Moffin doesn't know 'jan-i-tors', doesn't know gar-bage cans. Sogga-Moffin takes greeders to the Drain-Snipes. Maybe they knows." The beast wheeled around and scuttled off into the darkness, and to his own surprise, Edward followed. Much, much better than a fashion store, Edward thought to himself.

(part III coming soon...)

“Ssssh, They might hear you…”

Once upon a time, a young boy went to the shopping mall with his two cousins. They were both girls, a little older than him, with blonde hair and bright eyes. They liked nothing better than to parade him around the city, pretending as if he were their younger brother, or perhaps son, depending on what sort of game they felt like playing that day. The boy, who's name was Edward, especially liked it when they took him to the toy store with the glass cases where they kept all the rare and wonderful toys that couldn't be found at any other toy seller.

Each time they took Edward with them wherever they went, they remembered why Edward's parents were trying to get loose of him to begin with: he was a very loud and rambunctious boy, who, with no regard whatever for the sensibilities of two blonde teenagers, would skip around the echoing halls of the mall making frighteningly realistic fire engine noises at the top of his lungs.

On this particular day, it had not taken long for one of the girls to lose her patience with his shrill gambolling. She marched over to him and caught him by the wrist. Kneeling down, she whispered, "Sssshhhh, They might hear you. Do you really want Them to know you are here?"

Confused, the boy looked around. A few familes walked the mall, pushing strollers or carrying large plastic bags filled with shoes or albums or jewelry boxes. A straggly old man with a yellowing beard nursed a foam coffee cup. A security guard stared blankly from behind a desk set into the wall, one hand propping up his chin.

"No, not them. Them." The girl pointed a quivering finger toward the bulbous, silver-topped garbage cans. "Inside. They'll hear you."

"What are you talking about?"

"They live inside those garbage cans, listening. And if they hear you, they'll rush out from their lair, streak across the mall in a flash of black fur and razor-teeth, snatch you up, and you'll never come out again."

The boy stopped and stared at the garbage cans. They looked big enough to house such a creature, and as he looked around, everyone else was being very quiet. Come to think of it, the only sound at all came from somewhere near the ceiling: a dull, placid piano. He looked up at his cousin, who was standing above him now, holding his hand with a wide, proud smile on her face. Solemnly, he nodded.

The rest of the way to the teen fashion store, Edward walked silently, close to his cousins, looking up and down the wide walks for streaking black fur. Perhaps his shoes squeaked louder than others? Could they hear him breathing? Why were his cousins talking so loud? As they passed row after row of benches, each one had a garbage can on either side. The boy's eyes locked on each one, watching breathlessly for the tiniest sway of its topmost, silvery swing-door.

He let out a long sigh upon crossing onto the carpet of the fashion store, the girls' favorite mall destination. He hated the store; there was nothing to play with, only a thousand round racks filled with strangely colored clothing that made ridiculous anyone who touched them. Normally, he would remain outside the store, running around the middle of the mall among the collections of benches, fake plants, wide brown rugs, and (gulp) garbage cans. He hugged one of the plastic pillars at the entrance to the store, watching the five or six cans within sight. He was thankful for the sanctuary.

Reluctantly, Edward turned eyes back to the interior of the fashion store, the pink and purple heaps making him squint and frown. Bubble gum music oozed from hidden alcoves somewhere above him. Somewhere to one side, his cousins chortled excitedly with garishly dressed and clownishly painted attendants. "There has to be something fun to do in here," Edward said to himself.

Still shorter than most of the clothing racks, he wound his way between them to the back of the store, where the clothes no one wanted waited on dusty racks. He found a particularly full rack, and thrust his hands between an orange sweater and something made from lime-green taffeta, parting them just wide enough for him to climb inside. Bunching shut behind him, the circular clothing rack became his refuge from the store, a fortress from which he could think up something fun to do.

As he thought through his options, he glanced down in the dim light which filtered through the glass top of the rack. He noticed that on the dirty floor beneath him, right in the middle of the carpet, was what appeared to be a wooden trap door, complete with a gnarled iron ring set in its face. He had never seen anything like it, except maybe in an old story book or cartoon. He stared at it for a long time, as if waiting for something to burst forth from below. On a whim, he reached down, grasped the ring firmly, and pulled the creaking door upright. Suddenly, the smell of dirty water and old burger wrappers billowed his nose. The light was just strong enough for him to see the top rungs of an old wooden ladder which led down into the steaming darkness.

A voice came from somewhere outside the world of the rack, "Edward, where'd you go?"

He set one foot on the ladder, glanced up once, and then began climbing down…

(read part II)

Tiny biplanes appeared in the skies

Tiny biplanes appeared in the skies above the courtyard, flying long, slow sorties just beneath the branches of the spreading maple. So far as anyone knew, no biplanes had ever been sighted there before. They were very small, no more than eight inches in length, and had emerged just that morning from the nativity of their box. They had come not as biplanes at all, or so the instructions would indicate. But the boy, too young for legos anyway, had no patience for tedious instructions. These white and grey and red atoms of joy became rough-hewn flying machines in his tinkering hands, piloted by white knights of the sky visible only to the eyes of imagination.

Other toys made their sojourn to this courtyard, too, along with books about dinosaurs and pads of drawing paper. The boy visited here often, staying with his grandmother in a small apartment where she lived alone. Her door and six others formed a ring around that soft floor of green where the boy played. Sometimes he would visit his grandmother's neighbors, all venerable folk in their gowns and slippers, all smiles and shining eyes. He could not remember them ever leaving the cozy doorways which looked out upon that small green world.

In the coming year, his infant sister would crawl upon that lush grass. Years after that, before it would ever see their home, the boy and his sister would bring their newly purchased guinea pig to that courtyard and set it free upon that garden of greens. And they would laugh, because it never moved more than a step from its cage, but rather sat and chewed, content there, the wide courtyard a world larger than it could imagine.

One narrow walk leads away from the courtyard, away from the solemn apartments, to the blacktop where the muscular Chevelle broods. It belonged to his grandmother, but now it only waits. It will not be long until the boy pilots that rough-forged iron machine to a nervous young woman's house, and there beneath the moon kiss her awkwardly, eagerly.

The grandmother is gone now. In the passing years, what strange feet have crossed that quiet courtyard of grass, what faces lurk behind the doors that guard it? No biplanes brave the skies beneath that spreading maple. The boy is grown, and the biplanes wait in the mind of his daughter. Perhaps this time they will be born anew not as biplanes at all, but delicate flying horses or glittering fairies visible only to the eyes of imagination.