The bird sings.

When you aren't nauseated anymore it's like you can fly.

When the Duke of Wellington (Napolean's conqueror) reached the end of his life, it was asked of him if he had any regrets. He said that his regret in life was that he didn't give more praise. I know this will also be my regret. It already is. Why isn't it more inherent in me to instill confidence? Especially in my children? And those I love most?

My dad was right: a change is as good as a rest. Now to discover - is a rest as good as a change?

I'm REALLY hoping that the common cultural thought that there will be a video of our lives shown when we get to heaven is a myth. It's not a comforting or entertaining thought.

Interstitial. This is a word.

Be as a bird, perched on a frail branch

that she feels bending beneath her.

still,

She sings away all the same,

Knowing she has wings

(Victor Hugo)

This bird finds joy in the staying because she understands about the going. So beautiful.

(One of Victor Hugo's daughters died when she fell out of a small boat and her heavy skirts pulled her under. Her young husband also died trying to save her.)

I'm sleepy. And I feel emptied. Maybe I'm ready to be filled by good things.

There won't be enough days. There just won't.