We had a lovely dinner last night at my brother's house. "Can you believe we've lived here almost thirty years?" he asked at one point in the conversation.
This morning we all gathered at a favorite brunch spot. "Can you believe we've been coming here almost 30 years?" it was me who asked this time.
Later in the afternoon, I drove my mom out to my aunt's house, where she's lived for the last 58 years. There was no need to ask the question.
Such permanence in our lives anchors us. It allows us to rock gently off to sleep while all around us every drop of water is rushing past on its way to somewhere else. The ocean changes and stays the same.
Can you believe that?
This morning we all gathered at a favorite brunch spot. "Can you believe we've been coming here almost 30 years?" it was me who asked this time.
Later in the afternoon, I drove my mom out to my aunt's house, where she's lived for the last 58 years. There was no need to ask the question.
Such permanence in our lives anchors us. It allows us to rock gently off to sleep while all around us every drop of water is rushing past on its way to somewhere else. The ocean changes and stays the same.
Can you believe that?
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