She illustrated my favorite grammar book, Elements of Style by William Strunk Jr. and E.B. White, and today she illustrated and wrote a Memorial Day piece called At Ease in the NY Times.  I like it.  Makes me think war is bad, always.  But she says it with respect to all sides.  Nicely done.

Tashi is 8 days shy of 5 years old.  This morning she said, “How do we know this is real?”

I said, “The cinnamon toast?”

“No, I mean all of this.  How do we know this is real life?  Maybe it’s all a movie or a cartoon.”

“Good question,” I said. “I guess we can tell it’s not a cartoon because we look so real.  We aren’t bubble characters, are we? But with 3-D animation it’s hard to tell, I see your point.”

“Maybe it’s all a dream.”

“Maybe.”

“Yes, I think this is a dream,” Tashi said.

“Is it a good dream?”

“Pretty good,” she said.

I tried to think like Tashi for a second.  Maybe dreams and real life aren’t so distinct, but if so, how was it possible, like right then at the breakfast table, that Tashi and I would have the same dream?  Maybe we weren’t having the same dream and maybe it doesn’t matter that we share the exact same experience.  

This is a concept I struggle with in waking life.  I am sort of preoccupied with connecting and especially lately I might  feel disappointed  when, for example, Victoria doesn’t remember a word of a previous conversation.

 But how can we really know if a conversation or experience is truly shared?  

In this case, even if Tashi and I appear to be awake and sharing the same experiencing, Tashi might have a totally different memory of that breakfast experience.  

Maybe if I thought like Tashi, I wouldn’t care if Victoria didn’t remember a single thing we talked about.  Maybe I wouldn’t wake up sad after a dream about my friend, Robin. Instead I would feel satisfied after a really nice visit.  Robin died seven years ago, but when I dream about her, she is alive.  In my dreams, she has cancer and we talk about the possibility of her dying.  I’m sad, but I also feel totally connected to her.  We are together in my dreams.

 When that happens, I wonder if it’s possible that in some soul way Robin’s having the same dream.  But maybe that doesn’t matter.  Maybe my dream is real life just as my life may be a dream.



This post and other’s about parenting also appear on Offsprung.com where I write as Mama La Gringa.