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he eats something sour, squeezes something soft, or drinks from a cup. Captured by my dad's quick camera. Enjoy his photos of our dude, updated weekly, here.

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Pinky finger papa from Caitlin Rippey on Vimeo.


Untitled from Caitlin Rippey on Vimeo.

I was out running errands with a low fever. I felt how hot the skin of my face was when the cold breeze blew across it, how remote my thoughts were-peck-pecking at their own tired mystery-when chickadees chirped, congregants around a small brick of suet hung in the yard of one of the fine old houses in my neighborhood ( Read more... )

My friend came to the same restaurant I did but in the wrong neighborhood-- or we were both in the wrong, neighborhood--, so I had noodle soup alone, between the two mirrored walls in back of the shop. Me and my dirty dividing replicas, not "I" but "he" on the phone with her, choosing a different date. I ate the jalapeno, seeds and all, that ( Read more... )

Played in the powdery just-under-freezing snow last night. The humongous field floodlights turned the sky over Cal Anderson Park white, the air full of these shifting, unarrestable sheets of snowlight, flake motion, all random and slow, people running their St. Bernards and Lab puppies and pugs, a utopian mess, this bunch of boys rolling a snowball ( Read more... )

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My lady's parents got us hot water bottles for Christmas (mine was embroidered with Kay Ryan, hers with Rosalind Franklin), so there's this happy slug-creep of warmth for our poor feet in bed every night; our bedroom's across the apartment from our unit's one gas heater so most night C falls asleep with a knit hat on her head. This has been the ( Read more... )

I forgot until I ate a few that I've turned out a little allergic to the pods of snap or snowpeas. My throat gets pleathery and constricted and rough (I do that click-in-back-of-the-palate thing to scratch it) and my eyes water when I eat them, as happened in the meeting I just had.

Last year I broke my pinky toe and my doctor-- I wonder if ( Read more... )