Monday

The lovely drip drip drip of melting snow, trickling down from the roof. Drip drip drip, spring is coming, drip drip drip.

(Of course, the spring-like weather wont last beyond this afternoon, but still, it's a good reminder of how sweet the days can be. Chirp chirp, drip drip drip.)

I do not seize all that wonderfulness. I spend almost no time outside. I'm back to dealing with mom stuff (by phone, many agencies, no rapid movement forward, indeed, as far as her move goes -- no movement at all), alternating with a more pleasant task -- thinking about spring travels. Ed laughs at me. You love this detailed research stuff more than anything, dont you? Well, not more than anything! Still, it's a sign of how well he knows me: I can easily get lost in exploring the possibilities. So lost that all that sunshine comes and goes and I catch none of it on my face, though plenty of it in my soul!

(I'm back to having sniffles again, so I can blame my stationary day on lack of great enthusiasm for anything that's physically challenging.)


Breakfast.





Kids.

Sparrow first.





Snowdrop. Trying to push her bangs to the side. They're getting long. She's thinking of growing them out.






You come to expect these grandkids here, on Ocean, no? Well so do I. Every activity, every chore, every detail of my day is calibrated to fit around the schedule of meals with Ed and playtime with the grandkids.


Today, he tries to join in every one of her games. She's agreeable.













And the evening? Ah, that's my quiet time. A phone call to my mother, a video chat with my younger girl and then all is quiet. Except for the popping corn and the music that introduces the last episode of the Band of Brothers.