It's dad's birthday, and the other day, I had a dream or a stark thought that it also marks forty years since his mom died. My grandmother. I never know how to approach that, whether to acknowledge it and of course, I am sure he thinks about it. How can he not?
Forty years seems so long and it's a blink, really. I mean, I've been in DC for sixteen years. And there are days when I'm floored I've been here this long. Take nothing for granted. There are no guarantees and no promises of things remaining the same.
With that sentiment, I'm off to Chicago to celebrate a friend and colleague's wedding.
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