“Nana, you have an infinity of dishes,” says Evan, who is nearly six; who tosses words into the air and pairs them with unlikely partners; who strings together metaphors like a bohemian necklace; who loves puns, making up his own then laughing and asking—Do you get it?
A punster, a mixer of words, a stringer of metaphor, he should be a writer, and I tell him so. He answers, “But I can’t write any words.” I remind him he’s starting school, he will learn.
For a moment the infinity of dishes that tracks through my kitchen from cupboard to table to counter, waiting to be stacked in the dishwasher or hand washed, depending on their taxonomy, gives me pleasure because Evan’s linguistic artistry gives me pleasure.
Writing Near the Lake 
Lovely. Just lovely.
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I love everything you write. There are probably a lot of us that just quietly read and enjoy when you post. Wanted to let you know I am a fan. 🙂
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Thank you so much. Your words mean a lot to me. Thanks for quietly reading!
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Yep, no doubt a future writer just like his grandma. He’s adorable 💕💕.
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And he is a hoot and a half!
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I smile in satisfaction reading about a child of the future. Good job of teaching, listening and writing about it, Nana.
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An “infinity of dishes.” Love it! I hope school won’t quash his creativity.
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