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I love the city.

I feel energized and really alive when I’m there. If I could pick anywhere in the world to live (and had unlimited funds!), I’d make my home in NYC.

But I live here:

O.K., this isn’t actually where I live. I stopped the car about an hour north of Charlottesville to take this picture on our way home from NYC.

I must admit, it was good to come home to this:

And…….this!

I wait all year long for this patio peach tree on my deck to bloom. When the occasional peach forms, I leave it for the squirrels. I grow it solely for those gorgeous, ephemeral blossoms. For one or two weeks at the most, the tree is a vision of exquisite loveliness.

After an entire week of full days and late nights in Gettysburg and New York City, my son Nicholas fell ill on our last night in the city. He was burning with fever and he had a pounding headache and sore throat. As he sat in our hotel room, shivering, his teeth chattering, his friend Noah wrapped a quilt around his legs. It was a vision of exquisite loveliness to see this adolescent “googleyezing,” fart machine toting, water-squirting camera bearing prankster sitting solicitously by his friend’s side, his blue and pink spiked head cocked, asking him how he was feeling.

Back at home a couple days later, my son Teddy and three of his friends were having a long-awaited spring break sleepover. They were camped out in the basement watching a movie. In order to segregate Nicholas and his germs from our guests, I set him up in our master bedroom with his own movie. Nicholas settled himself down where my husband usually sleeps.

“Lie down on my side of the bed so you don’t get Dad sick,” I told him.

He said, “But yesterday Dad told me to stay on his side, so I wouldn’t get YOU sick.”

Home is wherever there are people who care about you and who look out for you. It’s wherever you have invested your heart by planting seeds that will blossom into flowers or friendship…whether that’s in a hotel room in NYC, or in your own little patch of paradise in Charlottesville.

Hope your weekend is “wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful, and yet again wonderful, and after that, out of all whooping”!

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One response »

  1. Pingback: Lovely | o wonderful, wonderful

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