Today is the 17th anniversary of my Father’s death. Perhaps that’s what started the tears flowing this morning, in the course of which I cried because:
- a shirt I got for K was maybe too small
- of Frank Sinatra
- the middle school boy at our four way stop sign was handing out lemonade for free just to do a good deed for the second day in a row
- the aspens don’t have leaves
- of the people ice fishing and dogs playing on frozen San Isabel Lake
- Whitney Houston is dead
- it’s been decades since I’ve been to New York City
- Warren Zevon is dead, and my friend Erik, who always laughed his unique laugh at the song “Werewolves of London”, is also dead
- I’m not 18 any more and feeling like my whole life is ahead of me
- I’ve lost my journals to the fire
- of all of the lies my ex-fiancé told me
- of how much I love MKL
- I’ve lost the cozy house
- of the burn scars near the turn for Florence
- Clarence Clemons is dead
And all this before noon.
I felt better after arriving in Florence. People there are lovely and real, and I never seem to have enough time there. I picked up a few treasures, but I feel it’s only fitting to share some of the more unusual things I saw.









I’ll leave you with that. I felt better after my excursion. I took some lovely images, as we had a beautiful day. I’ll share those with you tomorrow, as I’m going to be snowed in now for several days.
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