Miranda got walked. She was advanced to second on a fielder's choice. She ended up getting brought home an
Back when I was still married to my first wife and my eldest daughter was still a toddler, I attended a wedding in Long Island. I was at an age in my life where there was nothing unusual about attending weddings. I was going to an Episcopalian church where many people my age were getting married. As good Episcopalians we were used to boldly proclaiming the affirmation when we were asked if we would do all in our power to support the new couple.
Most of us moved on from those days in New York City and I wonder how many of my friends are still married and how well all of us have done in our support of these couples.
I had gotten married a few years earlier and like so many people my married life mirrored the married life of my parents. I don’t remember seeing much joy or tenderness in my parent’s marriage and I suspect that neither my ex nor I look back at our marriage as having much tenderness or joy. It isn’t surprising that both my marriage and my parent’s marriage ended in divorce.
The wedding on Long Island could have come straight out of the social register. Two young and extremely successful Wall Street professionals, with great lineage, were getting married at one the finest country clubs on Long Island. So, there I was, a child of Ethan Frome attending a Great Gatsby wedding.
Today, I stumbled across a great blog entry about Terri Schiavo. Courting Destiny has some words well worth reading.
As I read about Terri, I cannot help but wonder what her parents are thinking. The loss of a child, even as an adult, is a horrible thing. When Kim's mother died, her grandmother became very depressed and died within a year. Years ago, I had a coworker whose five year old son was hit by a school bus and I remember her grief.
I wonder what it is like for the people in Red Lake.
It is so common to second guess oneself in rearing a child. "What if I had done something differently?"
I caught up on my emails, spent some time with my family, worked on a few work proposals, but haven’t had a good opportunity to sit down and write. There is so much to write about; primaries, new books, how my children are doing in school, my own concerns about next steps in my career. Yet, it is Easter, and that sets the tone.
This morning, I sat on the hard wood of the church pew and looked at the colored light streaming in through the stained glass hitting the rock wall. The altar was covered with Easter Lilies and I closed my eyes. It was a moment out of Proust. The smell of the flowers struck me like the taste of a madeleine cake. It was the fragrance of resurrection.