Oh, baby, everything is so serious all of a sudden.  I think we are all in shock.  I mean – people can prepare but none of us knows what is coming.

My friend gave me some good advice this morning.  He said, “Just give her a good day.”  And I really wanted to, honey.  But pretty soon, my day was crowded with decisions that would have been paranoid just a few weeks ago.  Like whether I can keep the tchotckes on my bathroom counter?  No, I decided – too hard to clean, under the circumstances.  I needed to do a little actual work, too, so I can keep this miraculous job.

So, it wasn’t the day I wanted to give you – a trip to the antique mall, a drive by the lake.  Tea with the ladies – or a trip to Indy, to see where you are, and see all our folks.

But, I kept the window open all day, and the soft rain sounded like spring, and the cold air felt new and fresh.  I talked to Pammy – a force of her own nature, somehow keeping those wild boys anchored while the world turns upside down.  My ankle’s getting better,  and when I told my friend, she gave me advice from when she broke hers.  It was very comforting.

I made creamed hamburger for dinner because you told me that was your favorite birthday meal when you were a little girl.  And frozen strawberries and cream for dessert.  The cream thickened as it coated the thawed berries, and turned crab-apple pink with their juice.  I’m watching Ken Burns’ Country Music series – because I know you would love to see it.

I’ve given you all the butterflies I could, over these 10 years – and still there are so many left to tell.  To tell each day, just the things that you might want to hear about.  I do miss you, dear.  I don’t know why it’s so important to me to keep you planted here so firmly.  I guess I want us both to have a chance to look at things differently – to see that what is beautiful really does remain.

I love you, honey.  Sleep tight.  We’ll talk again, tomorrow.