Fa La La La Yule

The atmosphere in our house has finally become more festive. This took a bit of an effort on the part of Sparkle Fairy and me, as the Hub has been depressed over struggles with work.  I don't know why, but it is very difficult to find anyone here in South Florida who wants to work. I know such people exist, but when it comes to our business we have experienced very little luck in wooing them over to our doorstep.  I believe part of the issue to be the transient nature of this place. Lots of people arrive in South Florida with big dreams and little motivation, or dreams of lying on a sandy beach somewhere while the money they need to live magically rolls toward then on the waves.  That said, I personally know quite a few people in South Florida who are highly motivated and in possession of a fantastic work ethic, so I know they exist.  Maybe there are just fewer of them in the world of construction. But I digress.

This weekend, we sparkled up the Yule tree and the Hub strung more lights in the trees in our front yard.  He put up a few lights last week but I was secretly a bit disappointed that he didn't put out more.  Usually he gets excited and a little crazy and I'll walk outside to find him up on the roof trying to balance an inflatable Rudolph with a blow up Santa, a mad scientist expression on his face. This year's attitude is more subdued, but we've managed to tease some spirit out of him, and I'm glad for that.  

The heat has not subsided much to date.  While our nights are cooler and some days the temperatures are a wee bit lower, the 80+ degree weather seems reluctant to leave us.  My northern family and friends scoff at me when I complain, but I'm a northern girl at heart, and I've been down here for enough years to have cultivated a deep longing for changing seasons once again.  Of course, left for a week in weather that ventures into the 20's, I might start whining.  One is never sure, as we humans are prone to the romanticism of times and places past.  

This weekend at the ArtsPark there was a Christmas festival.  Our little family ventured over, albeit late, and listened to a very dynamic gospel band while watching people stroll past, some decked in Santa hats, others sporting face paintings from a booth that was offering them as well as balloon figures.  The music was a bit too much for me,  but if you were the sort to enjoy lots of "washed in the blood" types of lyricism, you'd probably enjoy it. For me, the trees in the park were the high point of the evening. The park at Young's Circle is home to some of the most amazing trees  I have seen in a long while.  I wonder how I'd forgotten about this; I complain about this area's lack of extensive forests while right down the street is a beautiful park containing trees that are truly magical.  Live oaks stretch their graceful arms in all sort of twisting directions, while Jacarandas grow thick and tall. At least, I think they're Jacaranda trees.  I need to do some research regarding that.  Walking between these trees on Saturday night, I could easily imagine picnicking beneath them with Sparkle Fairy, or reading a book stretched out on a blanket in the sheltering shade of their branches.  We truly do need to open our eyes and our hearts to witness the wonder around us.   

And a new weeks begins! 

A Hard Good-Bye Long Past

It's been almost a full year since the passing of my friend. The initial shock of her leaving has worn off, but the sadness and the missing of her has retained it's vigor.  This morning I was reviewing a gratitude list that I've been keeping for some time now. Nestled between the other entries was one that read, "Cooking in our kitchen with Lisa". I wrote that quite a long time ago- a couple of years ago, most likely- but I clearly recall that day. After the meal, we stood by the sink, me washing and her drying what couldn't be cleaned by the dishwasher.  She laughed as I told her I'd never been joined in the kitchen before. For her, growing up in an Italian family with siblings and other relatives present, partnering in the kitchen was commonplace. I enjoyed that day immensely.  I still think of it sometimes as I stand at the sink alone.  While I cook in the kitchen with my daughter often, it's rare for me to have another adult by my side. And because the kitchen is somewhat of a sacred space for me, that day with Lisa was doubly special. 

When I first had my daughter, Lisa was one of the few people I trusted to help me care for her. She helped me to find my voice at a time when I was still a bit shy and timid. Once, when we were at the beach, a grimy man who was stumbling about the broadwalk reached out to touch my then baby.  Lisa, admonished him immediately, telling him in her raspy voice, "Don't touch the baby with your dirty hands!"  I was grateful that she'd spoken up when my own voice felt so uncertain.  I have since grown and changed a great deal; I can hardly recognize the mouse I once was. But Lisa helped me to get to where I am now.   

For a new Mom, everything in life revolves around our new little one.  We accept this, usually without much thought, but appreciate it was someone thinks to do a little something for us too.  In my early days at home with wee Sparkle Fairy, Lisa would sometimes come by with a little something for us both. She might bring a toy or a trinket for the baby, and would give me a candle or some lotions. It didn't matter what the gift was; it just felt good to be considered, to receive that love.  

When Sparkle Fairy grew a little bigger, Lisa would sometimes babysit for her. Our daughter adored Lisa, and until recently would shy away from the mention of her name. It was difficult for her to acknowledge Lisa's death; she was a part of our girl's life from the beginning.  We have a ritual with potato chips- Lisa used to tell Rachel that the folded over chips were the best (aren't they though?!). They'd sit at our kitchen table, and when either pulled a folded chip from the bag, they'd hold it high in the air before chomping it down.  To this day, those potato chips are Auntie Lisa chips.  

The last time Lisa and I communicated, I told her I loved her and would see her when I got back to Florida. I could feel in my solar plexus that she was in some sort of trouble but she never told me what was going on.  I had no idea how sick she'd been, or that she'd almost died already over the previous months. I don't blame anyone but myself, really.  I'd distanced myself from her a little bit because I'd had some confusing experiences with her during which her addiction was fully in charge.  While I was familiar with the dynamics of addiction and could handle some of those painful moments, my daughter could not. I didn't want her to see Auntie Lisa at her worst. She was so beautiful at her best. I wanted my girl to know her for that. For the past year, I've regretted that I didn't find a better balance with this situation. While I don't have any false notions that my presence would have changed the course of her life (if she could have gotten well for anyone it would have been her daughter, but addiction doesn't care how much we love our family, or our friends), I do wish she'd been aware of my support for her. In my heart, I never gave up on her. To the last day, I held a shred of hope that she would be able to make the changes she needed to make in order to live.  It was not to be.

I miss her. 

Dancing With Dragonflies

Summer began to exert its full fury about a month ago. Suddenly, it's so hot outside that the act of breathing causes me to break a sweat. Some of the Moms in our home school group meet at the beach weekly and I have no idea how they handle this weather while sitting on a towel over hot sand. Even in the shade, 

the sweat runs in rivers down my body and I start to break out into hives. I guess my Irish skin was just not made for this type of climate. 

I've been thinking a lot about gratitude lately.  I keep a gratitude journal, and each day I try to add something to the list. The really wonderful thing about the act of writing this list is that most days I'll open the book thinking about one thing that sparked my gratitude but end up adding several more items beneath the original.  It seems that once we open our hearts to being thankful we throw  wide a doorway to awareness of many more beautiful things we might otherwise have missed.  Gratitude chases away my arch enemy, depression, which allows me more energy for hanging out with my daughter,  being creative artistically, exercising, and all sorts of other activities.   It's almost magical the way gratitude operates, but I have to live my day with eyes open to the awesomeness of the little things as well as the big.  A few days ago my heart was momentarily captured by the sight of dragonflies dancing over our back lawn. One in particular, a red dragonfly, caught my attention. Her iridescent wings and jewel like body sparkled in the sunlight and I felt privileged to be witness to her summer frolicking.  The enchantment of nature has the power to halt me in my tracks if I choose to take notice.  There is great healing there. 

And so, as Thursday rolls her doors open for business, may you notice the sparkling jewels in your day. Don't let them dart past unnoticed!!!

Roots

After experiencing a lovely July 4th weekend with friends and my own little family unit, I launched into a suckfest of a week.  The very sad thing about this is that as I write it's only Tuesday, and only halfway through Tuesday. We had a long weekend off from construction vehicles barreling down our street and the FPL "tree experts" hacking away at trees, the branches of which they would then feed into the tree chipper which they'd decided to park directly across from our front door. For a tree lover, few things grate on the nerves as much as the sounds of branches screaming as they're fed through that monster-like contraption.  There has been little peace in my heart over the past week since this began sometime around last Monday, and I think I'm close to my wit's end with the situation.  The noise and stress began afresh this past Monday.  As I drank my morning coffee I heard the trucks pulling up and the knot in my stomach re-knitted itself as I know they've been eyeballing the beautiful tree in our front yard with ill intention.  

Yesterday afternoon I pulled into the driveway after an uneventful trip to the supermarket.  I noticed that our neighbor was outside talking with another man; when he saw me roll into our yard he approached my car and asked if I'd talk with this tree person.  My heart surged briefly with hope that this guy might be able to clear some of our great tree's branches from around the lines without destroying the aesthetics of the tree. They were quickly dashed as he told me be wanted to lop off a huge branch for "the health of the tree". Nevermind that, as I pointed out, said branch is home to some baby birds, the parents of whom I've been watching defend for the past couple of weeks. I've come to be quite fond of those mockingbirds, and also quite protective. My neighbor, who is a vegan, should have been in my corner with this, but he just looked at me sympathetically and said nothing. Why is it that people are so enamoured with so called specialists? I do my own research with everything these days, as it seems that most of these "specialists" are interested more in making a buck than they are in actually doing the right thing. The tree guy, in a fashion typical of anyone who sees dollar bills suddenly flying away like feathers in a windstorm, launched into a dialogue of fear, shame, and sheer bully tactics at my negative response. These tactics rarely work on we stubborn and hard to intimidate New England girls. In true New England fashion, I told him I couldn't deal with anybody else's shit today and basically advised that he go fu*k himself.  I'm sure the neighbor was shocked and I'm mildly sorry about that, but I've been holding onto a shred of serenity lately that is supported by the nature in our yard, and as I feel that slipping away I'm not sure how to cope.  I ranted all the way into the house about how tired of this place I am and how happy I would be to move away. 

After this encounter, I did what every self respecting New England girl would do: I grabbed a mug of coffee and retreated into the sanctuary of our back yard, where I plopped onto the grass with our hen and cried my eyes out. Okay, New England style is generally to be tough, but sometimes a good cry can help us to sort out our deepest issues and then to move toward resolving them. So, there's some logic to that, and we New Englanders pride ourselves on being thinking people, so I think my cry was justified. Not that I need to justify myself to anyone. 

I realized that so much of my life lately revolves around trying to make other people happy and comfortable, as well as around the fear that my actions will make someone else upset with me. I can't talk about my longing for home while in my own house anymore, and I'm reminded too often in my own head not to be selfish, to put the needs of everyone else before my own, because that's what I've been told I should do.  I feel like a non-person some days, and one can only be a non-person for so long before she loses control in an ape shit tirade against a roving tree specialist and her usually hippy crunchy vegan neighbor (I generally love hippy crunchy vegan folk and like my neighbor, just to clarify).

I grew up in a place that loves tradition and values things like antique houses, special landmarks, and Walden Woods.  I hate the artificiality of a place like South Florida, where so much value is placed on the newest, the shiniest, the fastest, the most expensive.  There are tree huggers here, but we're in a constant battle. As are most tree huggers, I suppose. I'm tiring of being severed from my homeland, though. And it's taking a toll. 

A Calm Place

This weekend was a quiet one, with family time spent (just the three of us), and a date night enjoyed, some new plants purchased for the garden, and tiles chosen for the shower. We are going to be doing some work (well, the Hub Dude is going to be doing some work- he is the plumber, after all) in our shower, fixing leaks and replacing some horribly painted floor tiles. Sadly, the people who owned our house before it was ours did a whole lotta work that wasn't done well, or in a quality manner.  We have slowly been fixing all of the things that are falling apart, chipping off, and popping up.  In a way, there is some blessing in this as we now have tile in our living room which better suits our taste, and our kitchen has been customized to meet our personal styles and needs.  

The best thing about this weekend was the sense of peace that pervaded everything. On Friday night I attended a wonderful full moon gathering with Sisters. This filled me with a sense of peace and joy and I made a mental note that this is a group I must be more involved with. The rest of the weekend was equally as nice; I was grateful to have serenity this weekend, after the tumult of the previous one. I do believe that peace is often born of chaos, however. I rarely make positive and necessary changes unless some event or other crops up to urge me forward.  The explosions that rock our lives also give birth to new creation.  

Today, we have homeschool activities that should be fun and educational. It's nice to begin the day late starting "regular" week with an activity rather than just hitting the books. Our year is wrapping up, and summer is threatening a little more each day to arrive, although today the sky is grey and brief showers keep swishing through our area. 

Good Tuesday to all! 

Progress Through Acceptance

It's been a rough week. Emotionally, I have been all over the place, some moments wrapped in the sheer bliss of motherhood, other moments lost in longing for home and sadness for what seems too far out of reach.  Swirled into the soup of my own life happenings have been feelings of deep sorrow over the tornado in Moore, Oklahoma. Today I found myself sobbing during the CNN newscast, overflowing with grief for the children lost and the lives shattered. 

In the midst of my uncertainty and chaos, I've also found a sense of resignation and willingness to stay in the moment and see where life takes me, and us, when I do the right things and cherish the hell out of all the blessings that stretch before me each day.  

It seems that this small step in the direction of living in a more open way has sparked the artist in me again.  I've been working on various pieces of artwork, feeling a gusto for spending fun time with my daughter, energized toward life in general, and realizing that I need to step outside my comfort zone in a few areas of my life.  The work/homeschool/play/spiritual/family balance is still a tricky one to strike, but I've been making lists, prioritizing, and refusing to allow everyday life to squeeze the joy out of parenting. I've been walking around in an anxiety ridden daze over the past few months and it's been getting me nowhere except more deeply into a mire of perceived failure. I can't sit in that briar anymore. Time is too swiftly moving, my daughter is growing too quickly, and my creative urges are screaming for attention. An artist who isn't creating tends to dance on the edge of crazy. I'm not talking about an eccentric, kooky sort of crazy, either. I'm referring to depression and an inability to eek the wonder and magic out of life that is always inherent but not always noticed. 

So, I think I'm traveling through a highly transformative period in life. My intuition has been turned up; my sensitivity is either getting stronger or I'm better learning how to be open to the images and ideas that reveal themselves and to figure out what they mean.  My connection to nature and to the whole web of life has also been powerful as of late.  In most respects this feels wonderful, though it also occasionally leads to sobbing episodes over the sink after the nightly news has told the day's tales and dinner is being readied.  I have known I was an empath for many years; I'm still learning how to deal with it.  

And so, I bid hello to a new awakening. I'm hopeful, but I understand that there is much work to be done, and I don't expect that it will all be neat and easy.

Oh Well

I'm here, posting, but I'm not really sure why. Maybe posting in a blog is just a cathartic thing for me. I do find that writing helps me to sort out my thoughts. It's always been something I've done that's felt natural. Perhaps I should pursue it a bit harder. 

I realized last night that I'm not sure about much of anything anymore. I don't know what's real in my life. I don't know who I could truly count on if I needed support, aside from maybe one or two people, and they aren't anywhere in close proximity.  I feel profoundly sad and defeated today. I've been called selfish for voicing my opinions and desires for the future.  Maybe I am; I'm not sure.  I just felt like honesty was the best policy, that nobody gets where they truly want to be unless they voice their thoughts.  

Maybe I should temper my thoughts a little, though. Maybe I should hold them tightly within like a secret best kept hidden in a brightly jeweled treasure chest.  Maybe more will be revealed as the hours pass today and things are said, and love threads through the minutes.  For now, silence seems the best option for me. And contemplation. And maybe a hot shower. 

After a Long Week....

It's Friday. Blissful, busy Friday. Most Fridays are, for me, a day when I run the errands I've been unable to do during the week:  the banking, payroll, and shopping for odds and ends.  This week, after the saga of jury duty (which thankfully ended with the parties in the case in question settling and thus not needing our services), we discovered that some (insert expletive) pilfered a large sum of money from our bank account. The account we run our business from. Somehow, said scumbag acquired the number to my debit card and made a few purchases which, being completely out of step with those usually made by us, caused the bank to alert us. Thankfully, the alert arrived via email the same day the thief decided to make the fraudulent purchases and we called the bank to report the crime. While the bank was less than impressive with their initial handling of the situation, after a lengthy conversation with the Hubman they decided to open an investigation. In the meantime, I will keep checking our account via the Internet like a kid checking the mailbox for college acceptance letters.  

On a brighter note, we found someone of good qualifications to fix our slowly deteriorating roof. Hopefully, this will insure a dry season inside our home while the rainy season rages outside. At the moment, it sounds like Zeus is playing hopscotch on our roof and the Hub mentioned something about rubber roofing, a blowtorch, and the possible need of a fire extinguisher. I'm trying to have faith in a man who I'm sure is proficient in his trade, but I'm glad I have errands to run. 

Jury Duty

After a few months of trying to plead my case (no pun intended--okay, yes it was) against having to serve jury duty in light of the fact that I'm a homeschooling mom with no childcare available, today I finally bit the bullet and went to the courthouse to do my service as an American citizen.  I actually have  nothing really against jury duty; I wouldn't want to get stuck on a months long case, but a short trial might provide an interesting break from every day life.  My main issue is the childcare thing, and the fact that the Hubman is self employed and extremely busy, and not at a job that he can bring our young child to with him.  This leaves us with few options; today he stayed home with her and missed a day of work, trying to make up for that by doing paperwork and whatever he could accomplish with the girl in tow.  I was excited to finally be getting this whole thing over with, hopeful that, as usually happens, I wouldn't get picked and I'd be off the hook for awhile.  Yeah. Fat chance of that.

The day began bright and early, with instructions regarding how to be a good juror, etc. This was followed by a fifteen minute break which I used to get lost in the parking garage while trying to find my car.  Who knew that level three was so vast???  I finally located said vehicle, obtained the parking ticket I needed for validation (I was glad I did that when later I discovered that the parking garage is not a place for the thrifty patron-no deal going on there), and rushed back to the Jury Room, squeaking in just inside the fifteen minute time limit.  After still more waiting, the woman up front began assigning us our Judges. This proved to be a long, drawn out task during which my back, which has been giving me some trouble lately, began to ache horribly, adding to my frustration at being stuck immobile in a room for an extended period of time.  Finally, my number was called and I learned who my Judge would be.  After still more waiting and yet another trip to the bathroom (damned coffee) I joined a rather large group in the hallway for the trek to the courtroom. Crammed into the elevator like a cow being lead to the slaughterhouse, I was at least somewhat relieved to be moving on with the process.  My relief was short-lived. 

When the impossibly sunshiny woman leading our group emerged from the other elevator with the remaining possible jurors (it took two elevators to get us all up to the appropriate floor) she sprung the unfortunate news on us.  Apparently, for reasons not revealed to us, the Judge wanted us back tomorrow afternoon to continue the process.  There would be no selection for us today; we would have to go back again to fulfill the terms of our temporary servitude.  I am ashamed to say that I lost any sense of composure at this point.  Tired after getting up ridiculously early, frustrated and sore from sitting in that little chair for about three hours, I suppose the inconsideration of the Court just pissed me off.  Of course, Ms. Sunshine could do nothing for those of us who had no provisions for coming back to the Court House for another go 'round.  She advised that we speak with the jury people downstairs, as the Judge was not available to us at that time.  Typically, when I attempted to do this (along with another woman who had the same issue I have but was considerably more reasonable), the women in the jury room informed us that only the Judge can excuse us. They could do nothing and one of them tried to bully us, which only made me more upset. Of course, me being upset didn't help me or anyone else.  I was given a hastily scrawled phone number for the Judge's secretary who I declined to call because my rational mind told me it would do absolutely no good.  Having worked as a legal secretary, I am well aware of what it's like to deal with the secretaries of Judges.  The term "pit of vipers" comes to mind.  Not that all secretaries for Judges are nasty; my experience has simply been that many of them aren't in the business of helping you with your piddley problems.  Given that the top of my head felt like it was about to blow off by the time I was done with the oh so helpful ladies in the jury room, I thought it best to go outside, get some fresh air, and avoid any further unproductive confrontations. 

Understandably, the Hubman is not happy about my predicament.  He stated flatly that this was "really going to present a problem" for him tomorrow, and I agree that it does stink to vile proportions.  I'm disappointed that, instead of being through with jury duty as I thought I would be this morning when I left for the Courthouse, I have yet another day to worry over it and spend in what I find to be an uncomfortable and awkward situation.  I don't even want to consider how uncomfortable this whole deal will become should I actually get picked for a trial that lasts for an extended period of time (which could happen as this is a criminal cases Judge).   

 

For now, my hope is that tomorrow will see the end of this ordeal.  A girl can hope, right?

Rainy Monday

The rain spatters mercilessly on the rooftops this morning and I hold hope in the coming week. I love the rain, the coolness of the falling droplets, the way it washes the streets out front clean, the way it replenishes the dry lawns, and feeds the lake behind our house.

Yesterday Sparkle Fairy played with her friend from next door. I was glad for that; there aren't any kids for her to play with in our neighborhood anymore, aside from our neighbors directly next door on one side. One of the issues we deal with as a family removed from our roots is that we lack the company of extended family. My daughter has cousins close to her age, but they live far north of us, in different states, and we don't see them often enough. I have to bite back envy of the people who grew up here, who have old friends to hang around with, and cousins to schedule play dates with, and laughter to fill the walls during holidays.

So, hello, rainy Monday. Let's see what we can do today.

Lonely in Paradise

I've been lonely lately. When I say this, I'm not referring to a sense of being completely alone, but, rather, lacking in feeling a sense of community. I have my little family, and I love them with all that I am and am grateful for them. Most of us need to feel a sense of community, though. Particularly for those of us living far away from our natural families, there exists a sense of needing people who share our values and accept us for who we are. We need people to chat with (drum with) around bonfires, to share laughs with in the back yard on summer nights, to commiserate with, and navigate life with. There are a few people I feel this closeness with here, and quite a few people I'd love to get to know better, but thus far I feel fairly isolated, and it's starting to get to me. Is it anybody else's fault that I feel this way? No. I pretty much take responsibility for where I'm at. Because some of my ideas stray from the mainstream it's easy for me to feel out of place in the mundane world. I try to spend time with people of like mind, and that always refreshes me and provides me with sense of not being crazy. It's difficult to get away sometimes though. I'm trying a little more to take time out to do activities that feed my soul, but it's a slow process. I'm trying to balance the different areas of my life where it isn't possible to integrate them. I still don't understand why being a free thinker has to offend some people so much. Why does weighing science with spirituality and acting accordingly have to make a person seem so odd to people who can't, won't, or simply don't have any interest in doing this? I believe in things unseen. I have witnessed the magic of nature and know that not everything that "is" can be neatly tucked between the pages of a text book. I also believe that there are workings of our planet which scientists have explained through many years of research, and while they might not necessarily point to a literal Garden of Eden, they do present a logical framework for the beginnings of life. There are still so many things we don't know, and scientists don't always get it right, but I don't think it's fair when someone looks at me with disgust and ridicule when I mention that there is no evidence to prove and much evidence to disprove in ideas such as dinosaurs and human beings co-existing.

I'm just venting a bit here. I know that I need to make some active changes in order for this hole that has been widening within me to be filled. I know, roughly, what I need to do. Sort of.

Of Chickens and girls

One of our hens passed away a couple of days ago, and last night, I crouched on the dock behind our house, near where she is buried, and softly sang a good-bye song to her. I've been missing her sweet, feathered presence terribly and feel awful that her sister, Molly, is now alone. I also worry for Molly's health, as chickens are sociable creatures and human company is not the same as the bird variety. I have a fierce affection for Molly that has been intensified since her sister's departure has brought forth the reminder of life's fleeting quality. I'm considering the introduction of another chicken to our modest homestead. However, the hubs is not particularly amenable to this idea. He has tired of caring for them (though, truthfully, I have been and am the main caretaker of all the animals who live at our house) and wasn't receptive when our daughter stated that Molly needs a friend and that we should get her one. I'll have to consider the next course of action carefully as I don't want to force another animal onto the Cajun plumber, but I also don't want Molly to suffer because she no longer has a buddy to strut around in the grass with all day.

I believe in the value of holding rituals for our departed animal companions. We had a family funeral for Zack the night we laid her down under the shelter of a floppy banana plant at the rear of our property and that was good. Last night as I walked through the backyard in the moonlight, a slight, pleasantly cool breeze teasing the hair back from my face, my eyes rested on the place where Zack's physical body is interred and I felt a need to reach out to her spirit. Being an artistic sort, the idea of singing her spirit to peace resonated with me and I found myself voicing the words of a song I've heard often at children's rituals and other places. Surprisingly, the lone duck who was trying to get some sleep on the dock as I made my way to the edge of it seemed undisturbed. Our German Shepherd crept tentatively toward me and seemed to sense that something special was taking place. An avid chaser of ducks, he made no move toward this one, and only stayed behind me offering nuzzles. As I sang quietly (sound carries well over water and my goal here was not to freak out the neighbors) into the night air I felt a sense of peace. Even though we've had an issue with over abundant mosquitoes this year, none were biting. Sitting on the dock in the dark with a bit of moon overhead, a Muscovy duck to my left, and my furry canine behind me offering his loving support, it felt as though we'd entered a magical space in time. In the sadness, there came a touch of wonder.

(The attached photo is Molly and I, taken this morning.)