I have a severe case of poison ivy on my wrist, and a new set of daffodils blooming in my flowerbeds.
I have never seen a man’s back worn to shreds by a cruel whip, but I have seen crisscrossed lines of despair in the wrists of a friend.
I cried with friends. I talked to Ryan. I spent time luxuriating in the sun.
I immediately started thinking high and holy. Giving up selfishness? Giving up complaining? Giving up worry, or losing my temper?
Today I was the ogre who refused hot chocolate, after their excursion into the first good snow.
We marked fifteen years this month, with a four-day stay in an apartment made from sparkling surfaces we hadn’t cleaned.