I Watch His Hands, They're Lumpy But

It's All Real In Outside, Everything There Is, Because I Saw An Airplane In The Blue Between The Clouds. Ma And Me Can't Go There Because We Don't Know The Secret Code, But It's Real All The Same. Before I Didn't Know To Be Mad That We Can't Open Door, My Head Was Too Small To Have Outside In It.

The Idea Was To Focus On The Primal Drama Of Parenthood: The Way From Moment To Moment You Swing From Comforter To Tormentor, Just As Kids Simultaneously Light Up Our Lives And Drive Us Nuts. I Was Trying To Capture That Strange, Bipolar Quality Of Parenthood. For All That Being A Parent Is Normal Statistically, It's Not Normal Psychologically. It Produces Some Of The Most Extreme Emotions You'll Ever Have.

We're Standing On The Deck That's All Wooden Like The Deck Of A Ship. There's Fuzz On It, Little Bundles. Grandma Says It's Some Kind Of Pollen From A Tree. "which One?" I'm Staring Up At All The Differents. "can't Help You There, I'm Afraid." In Room We Knowed What Everything Was Called But In The World There's So Much, Persons Don't Even Know The Names.

We Used To Call It Her Cinderella Complex, Because Often When She Had Agreed To Go Out In The Evening She Would Be Seized By Panic And Announce That She Had Nothing To Wear.

My Mother Was Wonderfully Out About Her Dementia. She Would Sort Of - She Would Say To Me, I Came Out To The Window Cleaner About Having Dementia. You Know, I Love The Way That Verb For Coming Out Of The Closet Has Now Become So Socially Useful For All Sorts Of Situations, Like When You Need To Explain To The Window Cleaner That You Don't Know If You Paid Him Or Not.