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Up

“Up” is one of the few words
my tiny nineteen-month-old
granddaughter knows, along
with “MaMa”, “DaDa,” “Agua”.

and “Bye Bye.” She's only
high enough to come up to
our knees and has to look “up”
constantly. So she wants to

be “up” when she yearns to
be held, or cuddled, or read to.
To play. Rock. Sleep. “Up,”
she says when she has enough

of her breakfast or lunch, or then
supper. “Up,” she repeats as she
walks up the stairs, holding onto
her grandfather or me, and also

the railing. Even when she goes down,
she says “Up.” It's “Up”
when she climbs like a mite-
spider onto the adult sofa or

chairs. It seems that “down”
would come soon, since she
knows “DaDa” with its “Ds.”
But what she desires now is

“up.” Then “Up” and “Up” –
Always her current way of moving.
It may be months, years, or a
lifetime before she has to learn

the meaning of going the opposite
direction, going “down”:  “Delve,”
“Depths,” “Disappointment” or just
“Do.” Do it now. Go downward,

Himma. Not all good is “up.”

- Like That

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