I just read Saturday's entry & feel sad about it. He's only four. We're too hard on ourselves and him. We love the little guy so much, I just need to acknowledge the fact that he's adjusting, too.
I have no idea what events will happen tomorrow, or the next day, or in the next decade. I don't know if I'll ever hear my heels go *clack clack* on the brick courtyard in downtown Knoxville, being almost assaulted by the heavily perfumed magnolia air. So thick it chokes, constricts the lungs. Sit down, sweat a little. It's so fragrant and beautiful. And exhausting. Heels must be just so. Sunglasses must be perfect. To wear tights after May is a death wish, an invitation to asphyxiate from the steam.
But a quick stroll is all that's needed. It's just heavy on the summer. Up here, it's heavy on the winter.
Again, no idea what's coming my way. Backwards is not a direction that human beings can take. I'm not Marty McFly. But, if being up here has taught me anything yet it's this: dreams do sometimes come true. I don't mean that in the lyrical sense but the literal.
I've had three or four dreams come true since our move up here. Not dreams "oh our dream is to someday live in Alaska and see wildlife and live by a stream..." I mean that dreams I've had while sleeping, in the literal sense, have manifested themselves in waking hours. Places have solidified, familiar things from memorable dreams have shook my hand. If living in Tennessee was like living in a 1930's photograph, full of heat and emotion and scrambling...relative calm, then wild struggle to retain or regain...then living in Alaska is like calm realization. Epiphany. Meeting a doppleganger in person.