The world does not open until 11 a.m. We wander through Norway, Mexico, England and France.
There will never be time to follow each trail to the truth of a person or a situation by these slight wisps, but to delete the email is to erase some part of the person. It feels unkind.
Here we are. Another year has passed. We are thinking about you. We have stamps.
Christmas is a mother’s realm, her undoing, or her finest hour.
Throw in some political commentary with your professionally carved pumpkin. Really think about it. It’s an important part of your family’s brand.
Add aux cable to the list of crap that breaks. Cord in car now frayed and music cuts out. Have suffered enough.
Is your essential self like the idea for an initiative that later turned into a committee that became a task force and now you, the tradition of you now well established is, at say 50, hardly able to imagine that you were ever not thus?
“I had thought it was more like a course you took, where you solved your public speaking issues and moved on, but it is more a club where they take comfort in the rituals, a sort of fan group for an ideal state of a very certain kind of polite eloquence.”
Being connected, she explains, gives each of us the strength we need to balance.
On Mother’s Day it is now a tradition to post a photo on social media. An international day of paging through family scrapbooks and thinking back.