It is my son's birthday. We already celebrated on Thursday with a dinner in a somewhat central location south of here, and though he was traveling with the commute, and his father, stepmother and I in the reverse commute, he got there first, and waited a long time for us, me in particular, as I couldn't find a parking place for the longest time. Important, you know, to honor those special days, and he is my precious boy, even at 43 years of age. I have been musing on the magic karma that brings souls together, to learn and grow with one another. Particularly, I am wondering why I cannot love Pickle in the same way I loved Boo. She is certainly adorable, with those huge limpid eyes, and she now lays in the exact spot Boo used to on the bed, and gives me the same stinkeye when I accidentally (or on purpose) wake her, usually to say good night. But, try as I may, it is not the same. Was it that wonderful dusty toasty smell? Or the little noises he made? Or that long, long pink tongue that could lick his eyebrows? Whatever, Pickle cannot stir the ashes and revive that flaming love. Oh, I can love her. It's just different. Loss. It's no day at the beach. And here are my newest beasts, still in embryo, and the most challenging yet, because they are so simple and really need the exact right definition, and it's just not there yet. Bringing in the big guns, the Senneliers, that should perk things up. And I could use some of that, too, some perking up. Soul is dragging on the ground behind me. Missing my baby boy, all grown up and gone, and my Boo, gone forever. Changes. Bleh!
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