I can't believe I let this go. I need to write. I doubt anyone reads it, so what does it matter?
Writing is a form of creation, where ideas become fleshed in type, morphed into form and laid to dry. Then they either fly or crumble into dust. Ideas, dreams, fears, hopes all started in the mind's eye.
Yesterday my baby turned 21. Easter birthday that happened only twice in 250 years!
She graced my bell choir's performance at church and wrapped her graceful soul into my heart once again. She has grown in grace and humility in ways I can not fathom.
We celebrated early with a lunch party on the 23rd. Our family, her friend and her boyfriend and his parents. Seriousness of it was wonderful, but also cute. Her little sister, who towers over her, helped me to prepare. I am thankful for two wonderful daughters.
