Wednesday, September 21, 2011

December, 1963. Or rather, September, 2011.

I tried singing "Oh, what a night" to my babies as we walked together through the park and they just stared at me with blank expressions. Deprived children. We will be having a dance party tomorrow morning.

I couldn't get the song out of my heart all night. The upbeat sound ringing in my mind had me running, really running through the park, belly and all.

(Don't you love the face that Fitz makes when he says "cheese?" Is he in pain? I can't tell.)

Music is magical. Speaking of magical, we saw the closest thing to fireflies us north westerners can come by; swarming gnats, back-lit in the dusk. We're simple folk, easily pleased.

What a night. Chocolate milk from the carton. Racing. Tag. Climbing trees.

I'm glad for these last of the beautifully warm evenings before the season of endlessly runny noses.

My (accountant) husband is already casually mentioning next tax season occasionally. I think we may need to make a rule censoring that topic. Too many good, fall things to spoil with worry over impending chaos and loneliness.

I just had to start "Oh, what a night" in my playlist again to stave off the blues.

Usually we spend our time escaping today's woe in our daydreams of better days ahead. Instead I'll escape from the pain of the future in the reality of now. Life is really good now. What a very special time for me.

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