In the summer, the first thing I do is take my cup of coffee and go see if it's warm (and dry: the dew settles on the chairs) enough to sit out there and bask.
Not today. Not quite. Almost.
Were I dressed . . . it might make all the difference.
One morning last week, I literally skipped down the driveway, just happy to be here.
The child has not gone from me. Oh no, she hasn't.
Speaking of the child, here I was at age four I think, as the flower girl for Mom's cousin Beryl.
|Beside the bride, of course.|
And at the dance, a tall man (or was everyone tall to me, then?) plucked me from someone's knee and held me in his arms, prancing away with me. I was both thrilled and terrified, and laughed so hard that I cried at the same time.
I might still do that when I'm frightfully scared in moments of danger. Fortunately it happens rarely.
|The last of a set of stationery cards on my bookshelf.|