The snow in Louisville finally began to melt on Saturday, so Koko and I set off on another walk, retracing our steps from the great non-mailing trek. We were about halfway between the park and the shopping center when I spotted it, upside down with the mailing address showing: my I bee-leaf you should be my Valentine for Michael.
I was so very pleased, Koko less so because he had things he wanted to smell and I delayed him while extricating the postcard from a patch of ice. I put it on the mantel to dry.
Life switched gears after that. My father had a stroke last week, and the blizzard and I traveled to Ohio on Monday. He went into hospice on Tuesday and died Wednesday evening. He wasn't precisely conscious that last day, and my daughters and mother and our dear friend Gayle had spent the day regaling him with stories. It is rumored that our laughter could be heard all around the building -- and yet nobody once complained. At the end, it was a very gentle death.