It is less than twenty-four hours into my daughter’s visit and things are tense. My stomach churns as I begin to fear our next ten days together. I had high hopes for this visit.
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cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
It is less than twenty-four hours into my daughter’s visit and things are tense. My stomach churns as I begin to fear our next ten days together. I had high hopes for this visit.
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There is a sense of urgency growing within me with each passing year. It stems from a place deep in my heart that cradles the memories of what was and the reality of what is today.
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The fight had been ridiculous. Ten minutes after the explosion I couldn’t recall what it had been about and certainly I can’t remember three decades ago with any precision.
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It was almost April and one news station reported that our city had had a mere forty hours of sunlight since October! It had been the darkest five months of my life.
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The red light indicating low fuel shone brightly from my dashboard. Wondering how long it had been on, I pushed a button to reveal the distance I had left to travel.
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For me, having my cataracts removed and replaced with clear lenses appears to be a miracle.
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After spending time with my grandchildren and my brother I am finding my heart to be more tender than I had known previously.
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My life has definitely changed course over the last few months.
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The evening thunderstorm took a brief reprieve, yet stubbornly remained in the Florida air as a stodgy haze.
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I’m committing to being silent the entire ride home. Either that or I’m listening to classical music. I choose silence.
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