November 30, 2009

So much to tell you, dear Thiz. Yesterday was your baptism. At the church, Grandma Ricki and I dressed you in a christening gown made by your great-great grandmother. The under slip had two tiny buttons on the left shoulder. The over skirt has capped sleeves and two white ribbon rosettes just below the collarbone. At the bottom (which stretched 8 inches below the ends of your feet), four rows of lace, each the width of a dime, fabric between the rows.

We sang "Shall We Gather At the River" while we walked to the baptismal font, a shallow, wide bowl beaten out of brass. Pastor Charlie poured water from a golden pitcher. Children from the congregation came up to watch, lots of winter-velvet dresses, french braids coming loose, braid-ends in mouths, that sort of thing. Your father and I held you while Charlie scooped handfuls of water and dribbled it over your scalp. And while he dribbled and said the words, you started working up a scream, and by the time he had finished, you'd let it loose, screaming and screaming until finally Charlie held you up for the congregation to see and they applauded and you quieted.

You suck on your hands constantly now so most of the pictures show only half your face: your eyes peering out over a pair of hands pressed between your chin and nose.

And so many people there to love you: John and Martha, your godparents, laying hands on you, stuttering their first few lines and everyone laughing; David and Radhika and Karu and Ben, not singing, clearly uncomfortable standing before a large Christian audience, but there for you in spite of this discomfort; Peter, shifting side to side and smiling, Ricki, beaming and beaming; Paul and his current girlfriend Jen; Dorothy, dressed in soft gray wool and Mark, gold Valpo pin glinting on his lapel, Anna snapping pictures from the front row--and everyone there out of love for you, dear Thisbe.

Afterward, at the Ole Cafe, a cake frosted white with butter colored script: Thisbe Agnes, Called By Name. Square black tables pushed together into one long rectangle and everyone around it. Dorothy standing up and bouncing you, Ricki looking at Bible stories with Karu ("do the people in this picture look excited or upset? Really? Look again. Do you really think they look excited?"); John and Anna bent over an omelet; Jen asking Martha about LVC; Radhika nodding at Ben while he straightens in his chair, realigns his posture; David leaning back, legs crossed, pulling Karu up onto his lap without looking.

And there are animosities here too. There are cracks through this misshapen vessel of family you have been born into.

But miraculously, somehow, it holds water.