No one could ever be for me what [he] had been because he had known me when, and that had kept me away from the true reality of my years.

There is love in holding, and there is love in letting go.

There is love in holding and there is love in letting go.

There are random moments - tossing a salad, coming up the driveway to the house, ironing the seams flat on a quilt square, standing at the kitchen window and looking out at the delphiniums, hearing a burst of laughter from one of my children's rooms - when I feel a wavelike rush of joy. This is my true religion: arbitrary moments of of nearly painful happiness for a life I feel privileged to lead.

Good weather will do this to people, bond them in their gratefulness.

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