She is a doll. And a demon. Today I caught her dragging a giant box of salt around the house and salting things. The rug, the legs of the tables, the bathtub. Part of a Satanic cult? Salting the earth so the next tenants with have a barren life in our apartment?
We have been spending a lot of time at a small playground in Griffith Park. It has a slide with rollers, and she loves to climb to the top and fling her collection of marker caps off the top and watch while they bounce and spin and land in the sand.
When one of us leaves the house, she stands at the screen door and says, without worry, "you'll be back really soon, OK?" And, when one of us leaves the room while the other stays to tell her stories she always asks if we will be driving to work. This questions comes with a hint of worry. When we say, no, not driving, we'll just be working in the Project Room, she is very relieved and comes to give us a kiss and hug goodnight.
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