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In a holding patterning (about to go on retreat in a few hours, preparing to pivot while floating for a few days more as the birds awaken in the garden below), thoughts of what was/is indelible, soothes without fail during such a limbo. From my Rosebud file:

Sledding after dark

Four nights and five days at the Hotel Paradise in Krynica, Poland taking the waters, reading, readying, reading (perhaps I. Singer and C. Milosz)

Canoeing down the Delaware River through whitewater, in the stern, feathering, dip dip and swing

Landing after a turbulent 14 hour flightIMG_1717

Holding a baby (any baby) in my arms starting with my own, a perfect creature whose entire foot fits into my palm

My father’s voice singing:

Those are the legal laws.
The snow may never slush upon the hillside.
By nine p.m. the moonlight must appear.
In short, there’s simply not
A more congenial spot
For happily-ever-aftering than here
In Camelot

My father listening to Walter Huston singing the “September Song” from 1938

Greece when wildflowers bloom as they are doing now

Nina Simone: “Here comes the Sun” from 1971

My dead loved ones coming back for long visits

Cold heavy cream poured on top of hot chocolate pudding for all