Sticky

The hospital gave us a sonogram picture of the baby's tiny feet. I see that picture in my sleep. Maybe that's why I couldn't resist making little shoes for her.

They're booties, really--only good until she begins to pull herself up. Between now and then, she may have more shoes than any baby in Missouri. They're incredibly fun to make and so cute you can hardly stand it. For the first pair, I used fabric with a cow jumping over the moon.

When Evan was 9 years old, we all went camping with Mom and Dad and Deb and her husband and children. In the evening, Mom made funnel cakes over the camp fire. It's a laborious job, so everyone shared the treats--with one exception. Every child who could recite a poem or sing a song got their very own funnel cake.

Evan loved funnel cakes. Before the trip, we worked for days until he could say every verse of "Hey Diddle Diddle" and "The Owl and The Pussy Cat." Even as shy as he was, on two different nights he stood in front of the fire and said his poem, loud and proud. I can still see his crooked smile and the powdered sugar on his chin.

Working on the booties with Mom and Deb, I mentioned poems for funnel cakes. My sister didn't remember. My mother remembered but didn't know what poems the kids had said.

I texted Evan: "Do you remember poems for funnel cakes?"

"The owl and the pussy cat went to sea in a beautiful pea green boat. They took some honey and plenty of money, wrapped up in a five-pound note." His answer arrived in seconds.

"I can't believe you remember that," I wrote.

"I remember a lot of things," he answered. "My mind is sticky."

I hope some of what stuck will help him and my granddaughter.