About Aikido of Champlain Valley
Breathingby David Mendenhall3:50 a.m. Catching the remnant orange light that rises above pre-dawn Burlington, gray clouds hover in the black outside our bedroom windows. I stare at our darkened ceiling, awake. Listening. Out the window, I Merrick's cries echo along the maple floorboards of the hallway, shaking the November air of this old house, find their way into the bedroom. I wait. 3:55. Jenny's arm searches haphazardly behind her, across the comforter, and gives me a gentle shove. I swing my feet to the floor, rub my eyes with my palms. "On Saturday..." I grumble. Peeking through the cracked opening of the door, I see her tiny body standing at the bars of her crib. "Merrick," I say, both our eyes slits, like the doorway in the dim morning, "Daddy was supposed to sleep in today. I mean, c'mon. Is five a.m. crazy?" She rubs her eyes and lets out a wail. I pick her up and we walk down the stairs. Twenty minutes pass. Then two. All morning Years later, we walk hand and hand, hunting salamanders in her grandparents’ gardens. She is four and wants to catch things, living things. "Do we have to catch them?" I query. "Maybe we could just watch them. Maybe just watching them would be even better. I mean, it's gotta be hard being such a little thing and getting caught in a net all the time. I bet it gives them nerves. You don't want a bunch of nervous frogs and stuff running around, do you?" She puts hands to hips and stares at me. & |