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.