It’s been one whole rotation around the sun without my dad. (Or it will be about midnight.) It has flown by for me. But for Dad, outside the realm of time in the presence of God…well, I wonder what that must be like?

I sometimes think that deaths close to home are God’s kind way of helping us relinquish our death grip on our own lives here—lived under the tyranny of the clock, the relentless passing of seconds and minutes and hours and days, and all the ravages its progression brings.

I have a picture in my head of me holding a fistful of balloon strings, smiling up at the balloons’ bright colors. One by one, the strings break and their balloons disappear into the sky. I’ve lost five so far, and I have a peculiar feeling that when the last one gets loose, I may float away with it…happily, I believe.

I still don’t wish him back, though I miss him. Each time I think of him, I remember that his joy is complete as mine will be one day. The tyranny of the clock he used to tell me of so often is ...

In case you missed my yesterday’s newsletter due to festive frolicking, here it is: https://www.getrevue.co/profile/authoramandabarber/issues/ready-or-not-issue-23-1242258

And the unpacking process continues… Due to some pest and potential pest problems acquired at our various storage units, I am opening up all boxes outside to make sure nothing creepy, crawly gets brought inside. 🙄🤷🏻‍♀️ Silver fish have been spotted. We also found a large snakeskin in one of our storage units. So…

In other news, we are completing our move on Saturday and could use some more muscle! If you’re local and can lend a hand for a few hours Saturday morning, drop me a line!

Meanwhile, my balloon flowers and zinnias seem to be basking in this heat wave because they look gorgeous.

Also, I’m pretty sure I could fry an egg on our patio right now. 😂