rocks

rocks1


Whenever we travel, wherever we go, I always bring home stones or sand.
I have sand from many islands and stones from dozens of beautiful places.
Minutes before Paola rushed us to Naples, K ran down the hundreds of stairs
to the beach and back.
He brought me a water bottle full of Positano's version of sand, which is tiny black
stones and then a bag each of medium rocks and larger ones.
He returned breathless and exhausted.

This morning I went to rinse them and put them where I could see them.
But they smelled like the sea and I couldn't bring myself to wash them.
And I can't stop crying when I look at them.

I know full well that these are not the problems that break people.
I know Youngest will be really well when this is done.
And who am I to mourn the loss of a trip!
A gorgeous trip cut short!
The world should only have such problems.

I'm just very blue today.
But fine.
We're going to buy an espresso pot.
And I'm going to do laundry.
We're having a friend to dinner.
And I'm not going to cry.


No comments today - I can't bear how nice everyone is being.
I have such an appreciation for all of you.

I'll be better tomorrow.