Flowers on Sunday As Always

I had the camera out three of the past four days. On the other afternoon, I napped in the last of sunshine that warmed my chair – right there, behind the flowers.

The proportion of onion to chuck roast was just about perfect, and the crock pot did the rest. You can’t beat CrockPotRoast for Christmas – unless you have Brisket.  Nothing beats brisket.

Four days living as myself – the sound of your voices, your laughter echoing like timpani, recalibrating my heart to its own natural rhythm. The ghost of Christmas Disappointment failed to appear, and I was free to give you love and hold your hand.  That made me so happy, to be able to help.

The losses endure, but they are not the burden.  They are a sign that life has not forgotten us (to borrow a little Rilke). Putting on the Face – that’s what takes the toll. But not until tomorrow.  Right now, I’m here, and you are in my mind and heart as always. I remember.  It was really a fine Christmas.


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