Breakthrough Technology

I just had a breakthrough moment.  Last night, I noticed a gentleman I had seen around, mostly at the Coop, bright eyed and energetically--different than most people.  Good vibe.  But he entered the event last night and seemed nervous, checked it out and left.  Then came back.  Then, when we were packing up, I noticed him ride slowly by, "Thanks for coming tonight Sir" I said, even though he had already passed me and his back was what I ended up addressing.  The bike stopped quickly and he pivoted to face me, eyes shining.  I cannot detail his words, I cannot reiterate what he said word for word.  But this was his point--Carbon-Free is propaganda as a method of social control.  The new way to manage bodies.  The mode through which the corporeal (my favorite term for body) is controlled by power.  It's weird, because that claim can be read as very Foucauldian.  Foucault would, perhaps, do a genealogy--or a tracing of the ways in which power was exercised within the discourse of carbon reduction to manage behavior--although Foucault would not use the word manage--he might say exercise power upon bodies, or something like that.  I'm not sure I agree with the core of his claim, but I think it is a fascinating one.

So this guy continues that George H. Bush was actually part of some other family (he has an article from , I think, The "Idaho Observer" which he keeps showing me and pointing to Bush Senior when he had a different name) and changed his name and the other family was--gosh the competitor with Tesla?  No, can't remember, because the fact he mentioned Tesla distracted me.  So, he starts talkin' about wireless tech and that all this energy stuff is a farce, or at least an intended effect.  And then he pauses, as if it is likely too much, as if at this point most people act like he's crazy and that is the fire in his eye, the light that comes from the spark of not being heard but having something desperately needing to be said. I'm still listening.  "I know about Tesla" I say, and something like relief washes over his face, "I actually have wondered about what you're saying.  I have wondered about what happened to the technology he discovered?  The idea that electricity can be free just from the air." "Yeah" he says, "It can." There may have been a further exchange on the Bush thing and then he finishes by saying "They didn't kill the electric car,  I sold my electric car."  His back turns to me and he is off.

It hit me tonight.  Wireless technology is what I am using right now, my cell phone operates on wireless.  Well duh, right--I put that together before, that the technology was enabled by energy moving through the air.  I type words here and they are connected immediately to any computer that can access this page.  I can call a friend and we hear each others voices. I can type a message on my phone and it will almost instantly be available for reading by the recipient of the words.  Of course, this is all managed by satellite and other mechanisms, but does it have to be? (I know, they wouldn't like that far reaching of a question in grad school either). I pay for the use of the device.  I pay for the use of my phone.  It is the instrument by which profit is made from what Tesla envisioned as a free enterprise.  Did the technology come for the economy or is the technology possible without the device? Perhaps the technology does not have to be managed in quite the way it is now with the interest invested in the way it is now.  What would it mean to free technology?

End Note:  I can hear it.  Really, I didn't used to be able to, but more recently I have noticed my ears are often ringing with the sound of electric current.  Mostly when I am not working or out and about, but at night it is near constant and sometimes it overwhelms me if I am stressed. I wonder how to change it, and I often want it to go away.  But what if I could "move" it?

Canyon Becoming More

This morning I watched Canyon sleeping.  He woke up early crying.  I was already up, posting blogs before the real day begins.  I hold him close and his body relaxes, I take him into my room and let him lay on my chest.  He slides off onto the bed--breathing evenly.  Arms stretched overhead.  I watch his dream face break a small smile, listen to the acceleration and deceleration of his breathing as he journeys in his mind's eye.  I remember when he was born, how the same head and face were just smaller then, features not yet defined.   I think of how he is moving away from his babyness.  I touch my forehead to his, take in the scent of his sweet little body.I want to keep him this way forever, want to bottle the feeling of holding him tight when he runs for me and then melts into my arms.  Want him to keep forever the awrnry attitude he gets when strangers look at him and he frowns in his cutest way back.  There is so much going on inside that little two year old soul.  So much ready to become more.

In (TOO) The Jungle

Tonight I tried to take the book with me, out of the room, after the boys drifted off to sleep.  I sometimes tell myself I will take the book so I can quote it directly.  But, tonight, I forgot, again.  It was The Jungle Book.  Not the Disneyfied version of the original story (and not the original either).  But the CostCo pop-out version with the intricate pictures, all derived in telling, from the original.  

What I notice that I want to share is that in the Disney version Mowgli is drawn out of the Jungle by a lovely young lady from the village, "fetching water"  he is drawn into the sway of her hips and the batt of her lashes as she does her chore.

In the original, it is not a young woman that pulls Mowgli with desire from the depths of the wild.  No, it is the mother figure--old, and gray, but nevertheless, a mother and "the light" which Mowgli seeks.

We sometimes too easily buy into the notion of a species driven to reproduce and, so then, invested in reproductive sex. Of course, this particular evolution of the species mediates reproduction in diverse ways.  Reproduction's prevention frees sex to become sex for pleasure.

O.k. , didn't know I would go there, must be cause I talked to my great gay grad buddy Chris today.

My point is this:  We buy into the love affair, when maybe it is just a searching for a reminiscent reminder of motherly love and adoration of the womb that is at the core of our most human instinct.  Maybe, in that way, Mowgli was not drawn away from the wild by a domesticated spirit, but rather a basic animal desire to seek the comfort of the origin.  If, as was not the case in this story, the mother had still been wild, so too, would the boy have stayed so.

Hang Your Pants

I learned recently that one of the largest consumers of energy in homes is the laundry dryer.  Sorry, no figures, just a rather rational assertion there.  In the summer time especially this figure made me realize there is really no excuse for using my clothes dryer.  Even in the winter, I know many people who use their garages with a space heater, or their high-ceiling homes to dry clothing.  I have been admittedly lazy in this regard.  Laundry has, at different moments in my life been the bane of my existence.  First, in college, when I was consumed by my studies and...wait, I honestly don't remember where I washed my clothes my senior year...huh...weird.  But my junior year I did have a little laundry room in this sweet little house I rented for$450, huge backyard, rounded walls.  There was a gigantic pile of laundry, and come to think of it, I did have a clothesline then.  But since having kids, laundry has been a challenge always.  At the height of my organized mothering efforts I have kept on top of the pile with serious disciplined diligence.  At other times I have sorrowfully apologized to my children, when they have nothing to wear (Full disclosure:  Since starting to work full-time my mother, and her declared love of laundry has resulted in the maintenance of my children's wardrobe as an effect of her pity and skill at rapidly processing clothing as she watches my children.  She is a domestic super hero truly). More recently, with the revisiting of the clothesline revelation, exacerbated by my desire to reduce my energy use, I have finally hung a clothesline in the carport (which has never been a place to park a car).  I still intend to hang one across the deck for guaranteed sunny days and as a demo example to the neighborhood.  It is my little resistant act in the face of claims that clotheslines are a nuisance and unsightly.  It is awesome!  Of course, I have had to scold the boys when they have made  a game of pulling the clothes down, had to tell River, "No I am sorry you cannot wear that again tomorrow because we are not using the dryer anymore--it uses too much energy.: Thankfully, as is often the case with Riv, he seems to buy the rationality of that argument "Okaaaaaaayyyyyy" He groans.  

The clothes dry in a snap in the desert heat.  They smell better, they feel better on my body and when I put them on the boys.  And I feel like I am making a worthwhile effort, that has so many wonderful results.  One of the biggest consequences being the meditative experience of hanging the clothes, feeling the fabric, breathing in the scent of the clean detergent.  Then taking them down, and creating a new piece of domestic artistry with the next batch of clothes, waiting without fail to be hung.  If you haven't done it yet, I recommend it.  Stop those plants (nuke plants that is), hang your pants.

HAPPY DADDY'S DAY!

I love that way of saying happy father's day.  My niece, Zeia, coined the phrase in the Woodruff family when she was only 1 1/2.  Love it!

My father is a tremendous man.  Without fail, if I tell someone who knows him that I am his daughter, they spend a good number of minutes telling me what a wonderful person and exceptional physician he is.  This happened at least 4 times at the convention alone, and happens at least every other week generally.  I always smile while they compliment him and nod my head, usually finishing the conversation by saying, "I know, I am very lucky and proud to be his daughter."  

My father worked for I think, about 40 years, if not more, as a healer (Uh, I mean an MD in Urology).  He attended the University of Montana in his hometown of Missoula, got his Medical Degree from Stanford, and did his residency at the University of Michigan.  His patients from his private practice are his biggest fans.  He saved many lives, and improved greatly many others.  I still remember being a little girl and him coming home from work broke up from his day.  He was very sad, and when I asked him why he told me there was a young patient of his who because she was sick would not be able to have children and it just made him so sad.  My father cared deeply for his patients and they still stay in touch with him to remind him of their gratitude.  

He has basically flunked retirement and between traveling to Mexico to learn Spanish, writing a book, and staying fit (way more fit than anyone else in the family) he has also found time to devote to seeing patients at the VA Hospitals in new Hampshire and Georgia.  Come Home Dad!  We Miss You!

He is also my biggest fan in terms of my professional pursuits, and was my rock when things went sour at grad school.  He stayed on my side, and supported me through my worst bouts of self-doubt and depression--never once making me feel like I had disappointed him.  

He was my running partner for years, before I decided my body couldn't take it anymore.  He is my favorite person to go biking with, and I love it when we get to work-out at the "Y" together. He makes a mean chili, grills a great piece of fish, and is a true surgeon in the kitchen in general.  Plus, he loves my mother faithfully--has shown me over and over what it means to respect women, and is one of my feminist inspirations.  I could go on and on about my Dad, Dr. Manley Briggs, but I also want to pay tribute to the other Daddy in my life.

Charlie Woodruff is an exceptional young father.  During my pregnancy with River he was so deeply engaged in every aspect of the process.  Always caring and supportive, feeding me food, touch, and love.  We did yoga together (a lot) throughout my pregnancy.  He was unflinching in our decision to have a homebirth and never once increased the doubt that other people would create about the decision.  If I started to waver he would remind me that I was strong and healthy and that we were prepared and had great care.  He made me feel confident in my ability to give birth.  When the birth did come he was amazing.  Held my head above water, played Hall and Metheney over and over for 13 hours, helped me to the bathroom, and cleaned up some pretty gross stuff without complaint! River flew out into his arms and he could not stop crying.  I of course was just happy and laughing but his sweet tears meant so much to me.  One week after the birth (which was Mother's Day in 'o3)  I woke to an apartment full of flowers he had taken River (in the sling) to pick from our local park in the middle of the night. (That is totally Charlie's style--harvest what is available).  When I say full I mean full by the way...it was spectacular)! When I was in grad school he stayed at home for a large part of the time and focused tirelessly on the baby.  I will not go into the details of Canyon's birth, but--I think I hit him pretty hard a few times--and I know I swore at him a lot.  He took it all in stride--another successful homebirth.

Oh, and this is one thing Charlie is really good at--making herb tea combinations after birth that help with afterpains and milk production--I mean he is really good at it.

In terms of raising our boys he is incredible.  Their love of the outdoors is to his credit.  He devotes himself to experiencing nature with them, teaching them to hike and ski--lucky for him both boys seem to have a knack for skiing.  I mean River skis the trees better than me and I am not kidding.  I know he looks forward to many "me and the boys" backcountry adventures with them--and that contribution to their lives is totally priceless.

Charlie is playful beyond measure, will build sandcastles and kick the soccer ball for hours, if I didn't nag him to do other things--and that spirit of fun is another aspect of his fathering that has made our children the playful characters they are.

I know Charlie doubts his fathering skills, I know he struggles to believe he is a great father.  He has reasons for self-doubt that are hard to overcome.  But, I can say here, on father's day that without a doubt he is a fabulous Dad.  HAPPY FATHER'S DAY CHARLIE WOODRUFF!!!!

And so those are the father's in my life I wanted to share words about today.  I know many other great dads whose fathering is emblematic of the other side of the great mothering coin.  Some have children already grown, some are rocking there new baby to sleep right now, and some are guiding teenagers, or teaching young children.  Happy Daddy's Day to all, thanks for what you do, and please enjoy this day.

BLOG-O-MANIAC

That is what I have become, especially since the family is gone and I have been processing the Convention.  I have decided to maintain my delegate's blog, and am doing a bit of networking to see if I can keep it in the Democrat's mainstream.  I will continue to write here on most issues, and in my general no rules of writing style...but will post my presidential stuff and local race observations that are more standardly written on the other blog (athough, I think my writing is still a little--well-- more "abnormal" there than I am willing to admit .  Funny--River asked the other day what "multi-dimensional" means and the only way I could find to describe it was by talking about the difference between a still photograph, a radio broadcast, and a television show.  But so many things are multi-dimensional--and this dual blog thing is a good example.  

I love this particular blog though--love to write only for the blog.  I have gone maniac in the sense that I am adding links and categories to the other blog....it is fun, but also not what I want my blogging to always incorporate. I like having a place for just the words, the thoughts, the feelings, the day, my life, what I see, this world.  etc. ...no mediation (or as little as possible).  Natalie Goldberg wrote a great book called "Writing Down The Bones" (Actually, one of my favorite fiction books "Banana Rose" was also written by her).  In the Bones book she advocates for stream of consciousness writing as the main nutrient in the writer's world. The venue she suggests is a spiral notebook.  I actually have found this casual blog to be a better equivalent for me, since I flow better typing due to the excessive amount of writing at the computer I did in school. So that is the intent of this particular blog...to feed my writers soul and be about the process, and not give a damn if anyone reads these words or even understands them (NO OFFENSE MEANT IF THERE HAPPENS TO BE SOMEONE READING THIS RIGHT NOW! I implicitly strive for communicative writing and am thrilled by any entity willing to partake in my expressions).

OMG

I am so tired...but the messed up part is that it is Saturday night and I am at work, cause I missed Friday for the meeting and my family ditched since I couldn't play and headed to the hills till Monday. I know, I know I shouldn't use my blog to process, but there isn't anyone else to "talk" to so here I go. I am not a delegate, but I did get a lot of votes I think and made two significant contributions to the party platform on energy and wild places, and we elected a completely diverse delegation from CD2: 2 African American Women, 1 African American Man, 1 man from India, and 1 Latino Man (2 of these folks were my picks from the first day of the Convention). The at large female delegate was a young Native American Woman. That Ba'Rocks it for sure. I was totally frustrated by DNC rules on gender balance and the implementation of those rules by the State party...A coin toss limited the # of women in both the CD2 delegation and the at-large...I am writing a letter to the DNC about it. Too tired for more. Need to eat...and oh yeah, go to the bathroom?

My Family En Forme

Not the one I made, but the one I was made into.  My "family of origin" is a little different than most.  I am the only child of my parents but they have children from previous marriages that I grew up with.  My exposure to my mother's children was greater than my exposure to my father's children since I lived with them.  My father was married once before and had Ben (8 years older) and Becky (11 years older).  My mother was married twice before.  In the first marriage (at age 20--my favorite line from my mom is "when I was dating you married whoever you slept with, you all sleep with whoever you date") she had Doug (16 years older) and in the second marriage had my sisters Kelly (12 years older) and Holly (10 years older).  I was the baby, the only, and the first child.  It explains a lot about my personality I think too.  

I have a tremendous amount of respect for my sisters in particular, not that my brothers aren't good folks...but...anyways.  My sister Kelly is one of the neatest persons you will ever know.

-DISCLAIMER- I am not saying that Holly isn't also one of the neatest persons you will ever know too.  One time I described Holly as stable and Kelly as nice, and I have never lived that down since they have both interpreted it to mean that Kelly is unstable and Holly is mean.

Tonight , I want to highlight my sister Holly because: 1) She saved my ass yesterday when I needed her to watch my kids after childcare fell through. 2) She just started a new business as a personal trainer.  The name of her company is en forme check it out, and send clients her way (but maybe wait till the fall since she is slowly weening off stay at homing).  She will get anyone in great form.  

The Trip

Tonight Canyon's face is swollen like a bee stinged balloon.  But, it was just a mosquito bite, put there on a recent trip to Lowman.  This time, not like other times in past summers with Canyon this time he reacted like River did that summer after turning one in Colorado.  That summer around now, after returning from abroad, no home, just the van, and then the heat, and the westward boundedness--straighshooting cross country.  Flippin' the passenger seat round, facing the baby in the car seat--wailing from Pennsylvania through Illinois while we sung our hearts out to Old McDonald.  The halt in Indianapolis.  A complete van repair in middle-america.  A tornado.  Also the fever in Ohio.  Ohio?  Somewhere. And the cat in the van and a big fight during the fever, the first since the birth.  

Then Colorado, and Boulder with the baby where a hippie boy at auto-repair works hard on the van, and Steamboat.  The columbines, mad creek, elk river, and River got the bites.  He swelled up.  Now, that's what Canyon looks like tonight.

I told a friend once that I felt like life was existing in multidimensions, so that the spheres of influence we want and are obligated to are not flat lines, that we can step out of.  Nor are they static.  They are shimmering hoola-hoops of spiraling energy radiating electric charges.  My boys, my work, my love, my words, this home, this garden, that nuke plant, my body, those shoes, that hair, these things, and that food, car, bike.  Spinning.  That's how I feel when one of my children is hurt, like I want the loops to stop spinning and just heal.  But, I also fear the halt.  Would I gain the momentum again?

After Steamboat, and another van meltdown, we continued on to Boise.  The van broke-down at a nothin' place in Utah.  The people who finally repaired it said we were lucky to be alive after traveling cross-country in that van.  Some heat emitting part was hitting the gas line.  We should have exploded into flames. During the rest of the journey I wrote a story in my journal called "charred Family" about our narrowly avoided demise.

Can't end there. Canyon's legs extend beyond the scope of my expectations.  He flattens me as I rock him, he mutters and twitches, trying to get comfortable with one-side of his face hot and puffy.  He soon breathes evenly, buried in my skin, I am tempted to not even peal him off, just to sit here with him and watch the colors beyond my eyelids as I hold him close, nose buried in his air, taking in his scent, filling him with light.  Healing.

My New Delegate's Blog

Is up and running and has some new features.  Check it out! I am pretty expended from the effort and my bottom hurts from laying in bed for 3 hours putting it together, but I think it works and I have lots of other cool ideas of things to add.  I will likely only hand out my card that my cousin is awesomely creating for me at the convention--mostly do to the cost of postage, but I am looking into e-mailing at least CD2 the link tomorrow or Tuesday.  Wish me luck...oh and I changed my look...a cool surprise for the convention that you will have to check my delegates blog periodically (it is not revealed yet, but will be in the next day or so) to find out what it is.  Hint:  I am trying to become unified just like we need blue and red states to in my actual corporeal style.

Thanks EL Teachers at FHS

 My son has learned how to make mountains.  I had seen his Himalayas, white paper surrounding foam blocks, secured with tape and River's hand-written sign "HIMOLAYAZ". But tonight I saw the pictures of their formation.  A carefully laid lower ring topped by crossing larger blocks, a laptop is next to him, with a picture of this mountain range, and it is remarkable how well his design represents the image on the screen.

I only say this because I have been nit-picky and doubtful and plain worried about River's education.  It has been so hard for me to send my child into the world, to let him be exposed to the strangeness of human communities, without my protection.  I have pestered and questioned his teachers and the school at times.  I recognize this as a mis-projection of my worry.  The work these people do is outstanding.  They are entirely child centered.  They listen, and support, engage, and allow flexibility.  River has realized tremendous satisfaction in the Early Learners Program at Foothills School of Arts and Sciences.  And in my best moments, the experience has been so rich for me as well.  I have a community that I know closely, even if they do not all over-lap into other central areas of my life.  The teachers have helped me be a better more attentive parent by showing me how to guide and be guided by my child.  I have made close friends and experienced great intellectual stimulation.  

I am not sure why it is that I am so analytical about attaining perfection in my child's education.  I want an idyllic experience for him, want to shelter him, and if not shelter than simply watch him smoothly move through.  I can't imagine wanting him to have serious struggle, even though I realize its inevitablity, even though I see its worth.  In finally seeing him graduate from the ELs last week, in tact, invigorated and very inquisitive, maybe I finally exhaled, and in looking at the tremendous documentation of his teachers along with a beautiful pictorial history of his 2 years, I simply must say THANK YOU BEKAH, JULIE, CARRIE, AND MARGARET and the rest of FHS!  

"The sun reflects light from the moon and also the moon reflects light from the sun. The moon has craters too. They're big holes that meteors made over time." -River Hollis Woodruff, 5

Present Pathways

I am shaking. That is all. There is this energy inside me ready to burst and I can feel it reaching from my finger tips, radiating from my right foot--the one that talks. For so long I struggled to manifest who I believe/desire myself to be. Somedays I feel like the pathway I walk leads to the goals I have set. Sometimes I find myself disoriented, turned-around, cold, scared, certain an animal lurks in the dark ready to attack and put an end to my journey. I want to drop to the ground, bury my face in the dirt, lick the earth and become it. Sometimes I feel wings, and they lead me to the edge. I wonder if they will work. Is it possible I will soar if I leap, or will such an act result in a terrifying, imperiled, endless descent? I look for clarity and only find more avenues of fog. I believe I am almost there and soon realize I have so much further to go. And then, and now, and maybe, I think: "If I just enjoy the view from here, maybe the journey is already complete".

Whew! That was Crazy!

This is just a quick post to let anyone who reads this know (if there is anyone left from my small pattering of readers) that I was locked out of my blog! It was horrible! Luckily, in the middle of my panic, blogger informed me that I should "take a deep breath, this is not the end of the world." I thought that was funny, because in the moment that I read that from their help pages it really felt like the sky was falling. I didn't realize how attached I was to this little writing space. Turns out my new family gmail calendar associated that account with my blog and substituted my log-ins from my calendar. So, I'm back. BUT I do have a new blog (actually two cuz I am so afraid to cancel the first mess-up since it seems from the wordpress warnings (very descriptive, intimidating and thorough) that I will cancel the one I want to keep also. In the middle of getting this blog up last night I got real frustrated becaue I am having difficulty creating a section for old post from this blog having to do with presidential politics that will be accessible in the way I want them to be. I am now familiar with all the possible elements available for blogging, but none of them are what I want....in the time I want them. Point is, I got so frustrated that in the middle of it all I went to this account to just write a post, and was locked out. It was then that I realized that I blog because I love to write, I need to write, I live to write. Nothing matters about what surrounds these words to me, I just need this space. This allowed me to realize that this new blog will be a bit different of an experience. It is a tool where my communication will serve a particular purpose--to assist in my election as a national delegate to the democratic convention. For the first time since starting blogging I will be writing for something beyond the blog. It will be interesting to see how this changes my words, my expression, my point. I will not be linking those readers to this blog--since the content herein might hurt my chances of being viewed as a rational, functioning citizen--but all of you can link there and be little subversive knowers of who I really am. I will be posting all my presidential blogs from here to there, so since those are some of my weirdest posts, people will actually figure out who I am pretty quick. Speaking of quick--I said a quick post didn't I? Gotta go. Check out the blog and let me know what you think. Posts won't start rollin' in until later this weekend.

Opportunity to Write Your Voice

Here is an opportunity to share your perspective on energy with a cool solar group. Exploratory dialogue is critical to affecting change. To me, the most disturbing aspect of the approach of the nuclear industry is the way they seem bent on being the “whole pie” of energy production, rather than collaboratively advocating for a diverse energy portfolio that emphasizes renewable energy. Additionally, I feel like the nuclear industry’s solution is working within the frame of current consumptive practices, and not encouraging people to reduce consumption on a personal basis. Of course, being from a state where a lot of nuclear waste has been, and continues to be “dumped,” I cannot see nuclear power as a reasonable option, not even a piece of the pie. Cost is a major concern, but also the history of the industry, coupled with the environmental impacts of uranium mining and the rather inefficient and ineffective bureaucracy that necessarily surrounds nuclear power due to safety issues. I would like to see more emphasis put on renewable possibilities in terms of technological advances to make them more cost effective, easier to develop, and distributable over a wide range of geographical locations. Currently, the subsidies for nuclear power far outweigh the subsidies for renewable energy and if this could change we could have a different, and more promising energy future.

When I was a little girl...

When I was little Anne and I were taking a bath in my parent's upstairs bathtub.  I don't know what the game we were playing was, but we splashed--a lot.  So much that we were soon removed from the tub to the fitful bursts of our mothers yelling first from below that the ceiling was leaking.  I remember thinking, Well, maybe now we will have a swimming pool.  I have been told (many times throughout my life when this tale is retold) that upon looking at the water dripping from above, once I was wrapped in a towel and brought downstairs, that I commented, "Look at the way the light shines in the water when it falls."  No regret, no sense of sorriness for the repair the water would require--enmeshed in what I had created and unaware of the consequences.  When Anne was then scolded by her mother (Jackie) and told "What do you say to Sally!?"  she famously replied, "Thank you for the nice time."  

We finished Winnie the Pooh tonight.  It was a long book, the longest we have read together and I was sorry when it became clear that Christopher Robin was going to the place where they wouldn't let him do nothing.  But, Pooh and he play on in our hearts forever--at least that is sentiment expressed on the final page.

River finishes pre-school on Thursday.

Putting Canyon down is like cooking rice, if you watch it too closely, or take the lid of too early, you get rather unsatisfactory results.