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Beauty and the Beast

Though Christina was barely past her third birthday, we decided to venture through the Disney MGM Park live version of Beauty and the Beast. It was raining, it had been raining pretty much all day, and the rest of the attractions lost their appeal. The truth is, with the exception of The Magic Kingdom, the parks at DisneyWorld don't have many rides you can take a three year old on. We'd bought the DVD the year before, so she was familiar with the story. As with every Disney attraction, the lines were phenomenal. We had to park our stroller out on the street and haul our bags and daughter through the rain. Oh, we had our ponchos on, but they didn't keep much of the rain off. All they really did was render us invisible in the sea of orange and yellow out there. You lose sight of your party for a second and you're screwed. The show was terrific as expected. Christina was riveted throughout, mouth and eyes wide open. We were back a ways, but we could see the stage wel...
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Just when you thought it was safe to go...

So my daughter knocks, then opens the bathroom door while I'm sitting on my throne, nose burried in "The shipping news." She pokes her head in and says, "Daddy?" "Mmhhmm?" I grunt. Showing me our digital camera in her little hands, she innocently asks, "Can I take your picture?" My reaction wouldn't earn me any 'Father of the Year' awards. I'm gonna start locking that damn door!
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A red rose for Claudia

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I cut a red rose close to the head and removed its thorns. It was small, but fully opened. Its fragrance filled my air and made me think of Claudia. Carefully, I placed it on an open page from the book I bought her. Baudellaire's collected poems. Not very romantic, but we both shared the same love for dark poetry. The rose found its place, evenly pressed by the weight of the pages around it. I kept the book for several days afterwards, to ensure that the rose took it well. When it works, the rose maintains its color and brightness with a trace of its aroma. Mine looked fine. Claudia was sitting alone, reading, at a small cafe called The Place, not far from where she lived. She was still wearing her school uniform, but she had on a thick, white virgin wool sweater over the top. It was the button down type, with big brown wood-like buttons. She looked terrific. Barely fifteen, and she lit my world. She was taking a sip from her tea as I approached. "Hi," I...
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