Passover

I drove the red wagon home today, from across town where'd I left it for the weekend. I love that car. The black one is nice, but it's really nothing I'd ever miss. It's already had more put into it than it it's even worth and it was probably a mistake I should have known better than to make. I don't trust it, it doesn't feel right, and it's not going to last... I'd still fix the red one if knew how, but I know I can't, and I doubt whether anyone ever will. I'll miss that stick. Driving it is like looking at a photograph of me as a little girl...

I missed a few good shots today--or rather, I got some really great ones, only to discover that I had no memory present--and although what was lost was only the image of what was there, just an impression of light, it was something I wanted to hold and to remember, and share. It seems like forever since I've taken any good photos, and I didn't take any after that. I know that every day is lesson and I have much to learn, and we did play and laugh and run and hug and sing together, and the sun was shining and we all ate well.

On the home stretch I watched the odometer, with it's trip numbers just slightly out of sync... confused and waiting, I drove my past my turn, and right at the moment that I would have been turning down the alley to my house, I saw it roll over to 167,000. She's parked out in front of the garage now, covering the stains on the asphalt.

It's strange, how a heart can be broken. You wouldn't think it could be so easy.