It’s early March, right? I live in the Northeast. Yet, the temperatures are going to be in the high 50s, the 60s and even 70s this week.
As Don said, “I want to go to Florida when it’s really cold at home.”
That might not be the scenario, sweetheart.
My sinuses are wondering what’s up, but other than that, I’m thrilled that we can open the windows and maybe, just maybe, smell a little spring in the air.
It’s a month today since we said goodbye to our girl. In the midst of the hundreds of reminders of her that we have each day, this morning I was enveloped in sadness at the thought of peanut butter. She loved peanut butter and we would always use a dollop of it to disguise her pill. No matter how badly she might be feeling, no matter how sleepy, she always wolfed it down. Oh, my girl, I hope you can eat all the peanut butter that you want now that you’re free.
I could write a week’s worth of posts just on the many reminders that come to us throughout the day. Each of them makes us stop in our tracks and, more often than not, tear up.
We miss her so.
I’ve been thinking about Pat Conroy since I learned the news of his passing. At the age of 70, he was too young. He had a lot more stories to tell. Don was going out yesterday, so I asked him to stop at the local bookshop to see if they had any of his books on hand. I simply needed to drop everything and read some Conroy. In the meantime, I looked online at what might be on the shelves at our little library. South of Broad was available, so I figured Don could go check it out if there was nothing in the shop. Wouldn’t you know it? Don walked in the door with this hardcover copy of South of Broad – he got it for $5. Much better to have my very own copy.
I cracked it open and was immediately plunged into the gorgeous prose of Mr. Conroy. I had to reread the first page, simply because it was so beautifully crafted and the images so dense and rich that I was stunned. I liken it sinking into a hot bubble bath. Ahhh. A familiar friend is back and I can relax and let myself go, to be taken away to another world.
That is why I have always loved the novels of Pat Conroy and why I mourn his absence. He leaves an empty space that no one else can fill.