Calling the Heavens

My son pointed to a wooden statue resting on a battered table with an African Violet and a reading lamp.  He asked, Dady, watz dhis?

He pointed to a wood carving of Garuda I bought in Bali, the city of MasThat’s Garuda, I answered, and my daughter responded with a question.  Who’s Garuda?

It was cold this morning in Ithaca, but the promise of a full sun and a warm day.  My daughter and I lay together on the bed in the guest room.  We were playing around together on the computer.   Do you want to see, I asked.

We spent a long time talking about Hindu stories – really the  Ramayana – using google images, and we looked at a number of pictures of Hanuman, Ravanna, Sita, Vishnu, and Garuda.  My son – James – was on the floor playing with a toy garage.

James was in and out of the conversation.  From time to time he’d hop on the bed, and chime in his opinions on the different images we found online.

Back on the floor, a ramp snapped off James’ toy garage, a bridge.  Dady put dhis backon, he whined.  I told him to be patient, and that I would help when I finished with Sadie.  He tinkered with the bridge himself.  He must have determined the shape of the bridge to be like a folding phone.

James held the bridge to his ear, and spoke, Hello wvish-nu, I’m James.


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