Weekend Inventory
Carol Kane. Cowboy boots. Speaking in code. Cradling the baby. Building an airplane. Flying it into a wall. Yelling “Crash Bang Boom.” Pillows for forts and caves and for crossing lava. Challah french toast for breakfast. Mother Goose. Spilled milk. Reaching for the top shelf. Napkin folding. Train pieces. Puzzle corners. A recipe for calico beans. Listening to The Three Musketeers. Listening to The Sugar Plum Fairy, over and over. Watching the mirror scene from Duck Soup. Calling Nana. Curling up on the couch. The spatula is a sword. The shoehorn is a sword. The drumstick is a sword. Pretending the strings on a set of mittens “Mama doing Pilates.” Feeding Pinocchio. Feeding Pooh. Guarding George. Pather Panchali. Pom poms. Pictures of my father as a boy. What Time Is It Mr. Wolf? Drawing a treasure map with invisible ink. Drawing a “face with glasses.” Drawing a “girl with eyelashes.” Only drinking a juice box for lunch. Only eating one bite of banana. Everything is “Dis-Gusting!” Asking for chocolate before noon. Reading a Niki de Saint Phalle biography with one hand. Nursing while eating an apple. My desk which is now my bedside table. Photo books that function as a throne. Tea that’s gone cold. Misplaced water glasses. The smell of yogurt. The Boy Who Didn’t Believe in Spring. Remy Charlip. Robert Munsch. Tar Beach. The Meg and Mog book where they go to the moon. The morning light on a pile of clementine peels. Collecting rocks and stones and screws that have unscrewed from who knows what. A new calendar from India. A new flower pattern. A new pant that flares. Lost chapstick. Where are the scissors? Where is the cap? Where is the color blue? Giulietta Masina. The boy from Fanny and Alexander. Luigi Ghirri. Ballet books. Bed island. Building a castle. Building a treasure box. Trapping Joker. Reading to the baby a book about ten little fingers and ten little toes. Singing Down By The Bay. Licking the spoon. Skipping the nap. Screaming for more. Making monster faces. Making sad faces. Practicing “Surprise!” Standing on the dining room table. Playing with every lamp. Pausing the movie to run and go pee. Stomping to the kitchen. Boys with big heads squeezing into small hats. Fridge magnets. To-do lists. A recipe for potato salad. A photo from ten years ago. A photo from yesterday. Watching the film develop. Squinting at the sun. Stretching in your underwear. Watching the snow fall. Remembering to remember this.
Durga Chew-Bose is a writer and filmmaker living in Montreal with her partner and two sons, Fran and Pascal.