I'm two thirds of the way through "The Fault in Our Stars." This morning my husband had to grab a feed bucket and sort of pour me into it so he could carry me safely to a different place on the couch.
Isn't it fascinating (sad) that most of us break our hearts and even ruin large swaths of our lives over our own false internal narrative to ourselves? Lost over things that are not true.
Interesting: both Christmas books involve unanticipated Nazis.
I never noticed how many friends I have that can be identified by two concurrent initials.
While personally I have always found riding on swings unfortunately sickening to my stomach, (and that last shot makes me whoosy), I still find it glorious to consider for others. I recall first imagining that joy upon hearing The Swing, as Robert Louis Stevenson described it; it was reflected in my mother's voice as she rocked and read, and is the kind of joy I imagine your girl had in that balloon, which is why her trip makes me so happy.
ReplyDeleteThe Swing
By Robert Louis Stevenson
How do you like to go up in a swing,
Up in the air so blue?
Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing
Ever a child can do!
Up in the air and over the wall,
Till I can see so wide,
Rivers and trees and cattle and all
Over the countryside—
Till I look down on the garden green,
Down on the roof so brown—
Up in the air I go flying again,
Up in the air and down!