My parents sent me flowers today. A beautiful pink bouquet; gerberas and snapdragons and roses and lillies and lovely greenery leaves and stems all tied up with a ribbon and bow. What a lovely surprise and a beautiful gesture on this, our wedding anniversary.
Chappie and I did have plans, talked about for weeks beforehand, dreamed about, anticipated, though not yet put in place. But in a most unfortunate way I have found myself unfit for travel, for walking the corridors of the National Art Gallery, for coping with the pain that has been all-consuming and barely managable over the last nine days. So instead we found ourselves drinking pink champagne with strawberries and listening to Eric Clapton and watching the silhouette of tall gum tress through the fading light of a summer evening. And what simple pleasures they were. But oh my goodness, on the spur of the moment we decided to go out driving in the moonlight, from the mountains down to the coast, across to the city of Sydney, through the harbour tunnel and back through the tapestry of motorways to the foothills of the mountains. Four hours of driving, and a fleeting visit for a cuddle and a coffee with the eldest of my darlings and her T-Rex (and their recently popped baby-bump). A priceless celebration of the day my Chappie and I walked that aisle hand in hand, and of the amazing train of events that have unfolded since that day. I love him still, ( even with his shirt all buttoned up ).