Most people love spring's gentle warmth, those glorious days in the 60s and 70s.
Virginia, sadly, skipped those days. We went from weather in the 40s and too cold to lay block last week, to weather in the upper 80s. From heater at night to fan in the day in about 48 hours.
The beautiful thing about last spring was that everything bloomed at once: daffodils, redbuds, dogwoods, peaches, apples. Last year by this time, my beehive had swarmed three times.
This year, our spring is coming at a more moderate pace. The daffodils are about done now. The peaches and plums are in bloom.
And we wait in hope for the rest.
This morning, Jadon poked his head in the door. "Abraham, Joe and I are going to go across the creek and hike around on the other side. Do you want to come?" Abraham didn't, but Joe and Jadon, 4 and 10, headed off together to trek the wilds of our woods. It was a very sweet sight, a couple hours later, to see the two of them return, Jadon with a new walking stick.
Abraham made an amazing train track outside. The dogs knocked it down. Jadon made a different amazing train track, and put up bulb crates as a wall of protection (a visual barrier, if only a mediocre physical barrier). The dogs knocked it down, though it did stay up long enough that time to show Grandma.
Phil's parents have returned. There was great rejoicing.
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
Saturday, April 6, 2013
A Fun Gift
Several weeks ago, I read a blurb that, for those born in 1973, Red Roof Inn is offering, on the birthday night, a stay for $19.73 (40 years ago, the year they opened). Happily, Charlottesville has a Red Roof Inn, and it wasn't graduation week or sometime when it would have been full to capacity. So Phil headed up for a night with a bathtub while I stayed with the boys with chicken pox.
The boys and I had a good time watching (again) the dance scenes from Strictly Ballroom and Legally Blonde in its entirety, my two feel-good-while-feeling-pregnant movies.
Phil purchased a jar of bath salts and soaked repeatedly in the tub. When he left in the morning, he said he had no more towels or washcloths or anything else. The tub had an orange ring. The bath salts were gone. And he was so relaxed and detoxified he could hardly move all day. His muscles had turned to jelly.
He had been fighting a sinus infection for several days, so to spend some time just letting his nose drain and his body rest was really restorative.
Definitely Phil's idea of fun.
When he came home, he showed me his hands. They were pink. By comparison, I held up my hand. It was yellowish-orange. When not overlaid with Virginia soil, I naturally have a more pink complexion. It was a bit shocking just how dirty I am at the pore level.
In other news, Phil's parents have gone away for a few days to visit another relative. Within twelve hours, there I was, throwing up again. It was quite discouraging. Though I haven't necessarily felt much better while they were here (I wasn't getting out of bed to work or clean, for example), I had a full week where I kept all food down. I hate retrogression. Fie!
To ease the parting, Ken bought his grandsons root beer float fixings. The boys are in heaven. A teacup is about the largest cup we have, so they don't get a massive quantity at any one time. Every time Phil would go in to wash his hands or get a drink today, the boys would ask, "Can we have more root beer float?"
Yesterday Phil found my box of maternity clothes, well buried in the storage trailer. I remember with the first pregnancy, I was still wearing my regular clothes at four months, a bit embarrassed at how much my belly was sticking out (an extra inch perhaps?). Ha! I was grateful to make it to eight weeks in regular jeans this time, and since I haven't gotten out much the last month or so, I've made do with yoga pants and boxers. But when even regular shirts start to get a bit restrictive, it's time and past time to move to maternity clothes. I am just about done with the first trimester.
The boys and I had a good time watching (again) the dance scenes from Strictly Ballroom and Legally Blonde in its entirety, my two feel-good-while-feeling-pregnant movies.
Phil purchased a jar of bath salts and soaked repeatedly in the tub. When he left in the morning, he said he had no more towels or washcloths or anything else. The tub had an orange ring. The bath salts were gone. And he was so relaxed and detoxified he could hardly move all day. His muscles had turned to jelly.
He had been fighting a sinus infection for several days, so to spend some time just letting his nose drain and his body rest was really restorative.
Definitely Phil's idea of fun.
When he came home, he showed me his hands. They were pink. By comparison, I held up my hand. It was yellowish-orange. When not overlaid with Virginia soil, I naturally have a more pink complexion. It was a bit shocking just how dirty I am at the pore level.
In other news, Phil's parents have gone away for a few days to visit another relative. Within twelve hours, there I was, throwing up again. It was quite discouraging. Though I haven't necessarily felt much better while they were here (I wasn't getting out of bed to work or clean, for example), I had a full week where I kept all food down. I hate retrogression. Fie!
To ease the parting, Ken bought his grandsons root beer float fixings. The boys are in heaven. A teacup is about the largest cup we have, so they don't get a massive quantity at any one time. Every time Phil would go in to wash his hands or get a drink today, the boys would ask, "Can we have more root beer float?"
Yesterday Phil found my box of maternity clothes, well buried in the storage trailer. I remember with the first pregnancy, I was still wearing my regular clothes at four months, a bit embarrassed at how much my belly was sticking out (an extra inch perhaps?). Ha! I was grateful to make it to eight weeks in regular jeans this time, and since I haven't gotten out much the last month or so, I've made do with yoga pants and boxers. But when even regular shirts start to get a bit restrictive, it's time and past time to move to maternity clothes. I am just about done with the first trimester.
Thursday, April 4, 2013
A Story about Phil
Some years ago, my extended family was enjoying lunch in the outdoor dining area of a restaurant. Maybe it was Mother's Day. Suddenly Phil said, "Look at that!" A car tire was rolling across a neighboring parking lot.
Now I had read enough Richard Scarry children's books at that point that a random rolling tire didn't strike me as incredibly unusual. Until I thought about it: a random rolling tire is pretty unusual.
After a few more seconds, someone commented that maybe we could spot the car it came from. And, sure enough, there was a car, now sans tire, stopped a little way past an intersection on a busy road.
Again a pause. Then Phil said, "We should go help them."
Of course! While Phil and my brother-in-law helped the young family retrieve the bouncing tire and find all the lug nuts (yay!), my brother redirected traffic to keep all the workers safe. Apparently, the bouncing tire was already the spare, and the young family, in trying to get to visit Mother, had not tightened the spare sufficiently.
That, to me, encapsulates who Phil is. As a problem-solver by trade, he sees problems, both large and small, and figures out how to solve them. And he is more willing than anyone I know to go and serve others. I confess I would never have considered going to help that family. (Changing tires is not part of my skill set, but even if it was, I don't know if it would have occurred to me.) I am capable of caring for my family, but beyond immediate needs, I don't have a servant's heart. Phil has a servant's heart.
Today Phil turned 40. We had briefly considered a party with friends, but knew we would need a sunny day. Happily, we scrapped that idea. Besides three sons with chicken pox and several of us with sore throats and sinus issues, a cold sleet started to fall around 5pm. It would have been an incredibly miserable party.
Instead, we enjoyed pizza and cake, made and decorated by sons and Grandma. The boys made paper chains to decorate the motor home and cards. Phil got a large Lego set and the boys got small ones in goody bags. A good time was had by all.
When Phil turned 30, he had one son, not yet a year old. In his thirties, he added three more sons, and more recently, the promise of another life. He went to grad school full time while he cut back work to part time, and finished his master's. He left his stable employment where he was doing very well in order to start his own engineering firm. That earned him more money for less work.
And then we moved to unimproved land, and he has had to acquire a whole new skill set: shearing sheep, butchering hogs, wrangling cattle. Concrete work, metal construction, masonry. Fencing, tilling, planting, composting.
It's been a busy decade for him.
Before we married, he said he didn't think he would live to be 40. I'm glad he has.
Now I had read enough Richard Scarry children's books at that point that a random rolling tire didn't strike me as incredibly unusual. Until I thought about it: a random rolling tire is pretty unusual.
After a few more seconds, someone commented that maybe we could spot the car it came from. And, sure enough, there was a car, now sans tire, stopped a little way past an intersection on a busy road.
Again a pause. Then Phil said, "We should go help them."
Of course! While Phil and my brother-in-law helped the young family retrieve the bouncing tire and find all the lug nuts (yay!), my brother redirected traffic to keep all the workers safe. Apparently, the bouncing tire was already the spare, and the young family, in trying to get to visit Mother, had not tightened the spare sufficiently.
That, to me, encapsulates who Phil is. As a problem-solver by trade, he sees problems, both large and small, and figures out how to solve them. And he is more willing than anyone I know to go and serve others. I confess I would never have considered going to help that family. (Changing tires is not part of my skill set, but even if it was, I don't know if it would have occurred to me.) I am capable of caring for my family, but beyond immediate needs, I don't have a servant's heart. Phil has a servant's heart.
Today Phil turned 40. We had briefly considered a party with friends, but knew we would need a sunny day. Happily, we scrapped that idea. Besides three sons with chicken pox and several of us with sore throats and sinus issues, a cold sleet started to fall around 5pm. It would have been an incredibly miserable party.
Instead, we enjoyed pizza and cake, made and decorated by sons and Grandma. The boys made paper chains to decorate the motor home and cards. Phil got a large Lego set and the boys got small ones in goody bags. A good time was had by all.
When Phil turned 30, he had one son, not yet a year old. In his thirties, he added three more sons, and more recently, the promise of another life. He went to grad school full time while he cut back work to part time, and finished his master's. He left his stable employment where he was doing very well in order to start his own engineering firm. That earned him more money for less work.
And then we moved to unimproved land, and he has had to acquire a whole new skill set: shearing sheep, butchering hogs, wrangling cattle. Concrete work, metal construction, masonry. Fencing, tilling, planting, composting.
It's been a busy decade for him.
Before we married, he said he didn't think he would live to be 40. I'm glad he has.
Sunday, March 31, 2013
No Church for Us Today
Phil's alarm failed to go off for the sunrise service this morning.
Looking back, that was a blessing, though we didn't realize it.
The family was up and about five minutes from leaving for church when Phil noticed that behind Abraham's ear looked sore. Abraham's bath had required a good bit of scrubbing yesterday (all boys were quite orange from playing and hiking and general living). Further investigation showed that his neck had a rash, too. We checked his back: tiny chicken pox all over.
Joe had them, too, on further looking. So did Isaiah.
I had a splitting headache (and I am not known for headaches, so this was horribly upsetting). I wasn't going anywhere. But the idea of staying home alone with three rowdy boys with chicken pox, who mostly all felt fine—that did not appeal.
So on this day that we celebrate Jesus's resurrection, we all stayed home from all services.
Nevertheless, he is risen!
So where did these chicken pox come from? Jadon broke out in spots two weeks ago today. Where did he get them? Most people immunize against them, so although I hoped the boys would get them as children, that didn't seem terribly likely.
Here's my best guess. Four weeks ago, the rest of the family headed up to church. Afterwards, they ate out and went to the grocery. None of these would have exposed Jadon to more chicken pox germs than the other boys. They go places together. They see the same people.
But I suspect that someone had their baby immunized the Friday before, rendering the child just a little contagious. Chicken pox is so highly contagious, I don't think it would take much. Perhaps that baby (or the parent) then went to the grocery and used a cart. Later, Jadon, helpful boy that he is, pushed the cart, too. (Phil had chicken pox as a child, so none showed up for him.)
Is this plausible? I have no idea. Sounds reasonable to me, though.
Abraham has the worst case. He was really upset (though not necessarily feeling sick) until Phil mentioned that it is good to have them when young, since when you have them as an adult, the illness is much worse: "Some people have even died." So Abraham has reminded his brothers that, "It is a blessing to have chicken pox now, because if we did when we were older, we might die."
All the boys have been extra dear lately. Joe knocked on the door to give me a little purple flower. Abraham remembers the blessing in a bad case of the chicken pox. (He also showed Grandma every one of the Waldos and all the other things to find in our four or five Waldo books—that 45 minutes was, I'm sure an exercise in patience, but also a joy to see how eager he was to show off the result of all those painstaking hours looking for scrolls or tails or books or whatever else.) Isaiah helped Phil all day, happily doing whatever was asked. And Jadon walked at Grandpa's pace over a two-mile trek across rough terrain, just keeping Grandpa company. The boys help Grandma learn some of our simple recipes, and help her find things in the kitchen.
Looking back, that was a blessing, though we didn't realize it.
The family was up and about five minutes from leaving for church when Phil noticed that behind Abraham's ear looked sore. Abraham's bath had required a good bit of scrubbing yesterday (all boys were quite orange from playing and hiking and general living). Further investigation showed that his neck had a rash, too. We checked his back: tiny chicken pox all over.
Joe had them, too, on further looking. So did Isaiah.
I had a splitting headache (and I am not known for headaches, so this was horribly upsetting). I wasn't going anywhere. But the idea of staying home alone with three rowdy boys with chicken pox, who mostly all felt fine—that did not appeal.
So on this day that we celebrate Jesus's resurrection, we all stayed home from all services.
Nevertheless, he is risen!
So where did these chicken pox come from? Jadon broke out in spots two weeks ago today. Where did he get them? Most people immunize against them, so although I hoped the boys would get them as children, that didn't seem terribly likely.
Here's my best guess. Four weeks ago, the rest of the family headed up to church. Afterwards, they ate out and went to the grocery. None of these would have exposed Jadon to more chicken pox germs than the other boys. They go places together. They see the same people.
But I suspect that someone had their baby immunized the Friday before, rendering the child just a little contagious. Chicken pox is so highly contagious, I don't think it would take much. Perhaps that baby (or the parent) then went to the grocery and used a cart. Later, Jadon, helpful boy that he is, pushed the cart, too. (Phil had chicken pox as a child, so none showed up for him.)
Is this plausible? I have no idea. Sounds reasonable to me, though.
Abraham has the worst case. He was really upset (though not necessarily feeling sick) until Phil mentioned that it is good to have them when young, since when you have them as an adult, the illness is much worse: "Some people have even died." So Abraham has reminded his brothers that, "It is a blessing to have chicken pox now, because if we did when we were older, we might die."
All the boys have been extra dear lately. Joe knocked on the door to give me a little purple flower. Abraham remembers the blessing in a bad case of the chicken pox. (He also showed Grandma every one of the Waldos and all the other things to find in our four or five Waldo books—that 45 minutes was, I'm sure an exercise in patience, but also a joy to see how eager he was to show off the result of all those painstaking hours looking for scrolls or tails or books or whatever else.) Isaiah helped Phil all day, happily doing whatever was asked. And Jadon walked at Grandpa's pace over a two-mile trek across rough terrain, just keeping Grandpa company. The boys help Grandma learn some of our simple recipes, and help her find things in the kitchen.
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Spring Blossoms
Feeling a little better today, I went out to see if anything besides daffodils were blooming. I even took photos, but my download cord is very buried on my desk; sometime I will dig myself out, and catch up on photos and filing and everything else.
Peaches are showing pink bud tips; plums are showing white buds. I am thankful they didn't open already: we had a heavy snow fall on Sunday.
Besides odd precipitation, the temperatures have remained stubbornly low, too low for Phil to get many hours in with block in any given day. His window of warmness is about five hours, and he plugs away during that time, but we both wish he could do more.
He finished laying the bond beam blocks on the top today, and did two bags of mortar, which filled a surprising length: the short west side and perhaps a quarter of the longer north side. We can hope for tomorrow to be the end (finally) of those two walls.
Phil's parents came out on Sunday. They arrived in a heavy snowstorm. The power went out in the night, so the morning was chilly in the motor home for them (well, chilly for all of us). It has been a great blessing to have them here: we've eaten more than just hotdogs and cold cuts. The boys have gone on walks with Grandma, picking up trash. Jadon my game lover gets to play plenty.
And every night the boys show Grandma and Grandpa another favorite movie. Tonight they are watching Monty Python and the Holy Grail. The boys watched this last week, and, perhaps because of their homeschooling, they found it hysterical. They were up until 11pm quoting and requoting their favorite lines. Which was pretty much the whole movie.
Peaches are showing pink bud tips; plums are showing white buds. I am thankful they didn't open already: we had a heavy snow fall on Sunday.
Besides odd precipitation, the temperatures have remained stubbornly low, too low for Phil to get many hours in with block in any given day. His window of warmness is about five hours, and he plugs away during that time, but we both wish he could do more.
He finished laying the bond beam blocks on the top today, and did two bags of mortar, which filled a surprising length: the short west side and perhaps a quarter of the longer north side. We can hope for tomorrow to be the end (finally) of those two walls.
Phil's parents came out on Sunday. They arrived in a heavy snowstorm. The power went out in the night, so the morning was chilly in the motor home for them (well, chilly for all of us). It has been a great blessing to have them here: we've eaten more than just hotdogs and cold cuts. The boys have gone on walks with Grandma, picking up trash. Jadon my game lover gets to play plenty.
And every night the boys show Grandma and Grandpa another favorite movie. Tonight they are watching Monty Python and the Holy Grail. The boys watched this last week, and, perhaps because of their homeschooling, they found it hysterical. They were up until 11pm quoting and requoting their favorite lines. Which was pretty much the whole movie.
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Construction Update
Though I haven't described it much (and haven't taken the photos I should have, nor downloaded the few I've taken), Phil has continued to work on the top layer of the north and west walls. Before he did that, he had to grout cells, and that took many days. Grouting done, he went to set the lintel over the window and realized it wouldn't offer the stability or load support he needed. (Something like: it has rebar embedded, but the rebar is smaller than desired; plus, the lintel is fully formed, so rebar leading up to it cannot overlap, creating extreme weak spots right at the corners of the window: no good.)
Last Thursday, Phil managed to get the several hundred pound lintels raised up to the 12' wall and put in place. That was when he fully realized that his plan was not going to work.
Friday he had the undesirable task of cutting away a few blocks, already hardened in place and grouted, in order to drop the lintel one block down. This will allow a complete bond beam above, which is perfect. But moving the several hundred pound lintel over, and not dying while he did so, then moving it, on an angle, down into place ... I expect Phil never wants to do that again.
After three days of rain and a half day to let the precipitation dry, Phil went to grout the lintel. The mortar had to be extremely stiff, lest the heavy lintel squirt it all out. Finally, though, that task, too, was done, and he could lay block.
The bond beam of one wall is laid, but not mortared. "This is taking a lot longer than I expected," Phil said today. "But now I know what to do on the other walls."
When he knocked off work for today, he went over to check on the cows. He had mentioned yesterday that he thought Bianca might give birth soon, which is good because her due date is Saturday. She gave birth today successfully to another heifer. Yay!
Last Thursday, Phil managed to get the several hundred pound lintels raised up to the 12' wall and put in place. That was when he fully realized that his plan was not going to work.
Friday he had the undesirable task of cutting away a few blocks, already hardened in place and grouted, in order to drop the lintel one block down. This will allow a complete bond beam above, which is perfect. But moving the several hundred pound lintel over, and not dying while he did so, then moving it, on an angle, down into place ... I expect Phil never wants to do that again.
After three days of rain and a half day to let the precipitation dry, Phil went to grout the lintel. The mortar had to be extremely stiff, lest the heavy lintel squirt it all out. Finally, though, that task, too, was done, and he could lay block.
The bond beam of one wall is laid, but not mortared. "This is taking a lot longer than I expected," Phil said today. "But now I know what to do on the other walls."
When he knocked off work for today, he went over to check on the cows. He had mentioned yesterday that he thought Bianca might give birth soon, which is good because her due date is Saturday. She gave birth today successfully to another heifer. Yay!
Monday, March 18, 2013
We Get By
Phil called this morning from the pasture. I had just gotten up and done my morning retching, happily had not yet eaten (digestion takes all my energy, and, frankly, hurts. So I lie down after eating). "All the cows are gone. I need you to get dressed and come help."
This was actually a relief. Phil had gone late yesterday, despite feeling ill and run down, to move the cows into the next pasture, which required extra line stringing. He had about 100 feet to go, and the cows were far away in the previous pasture. He decided to open the pen, so he wouldn't have to hike back again later.
Sadly, the reel he grabbed to finish the job happened to be broken, and as the eager cows moved rapidly towards the opening, the entire 3000' of line suddenly balled into an unusable mass. How to keep 16 cows from escaping, without electric line or aid? And with a rotten dog chasing them where he didn't want them to go?
Almost impossible. A fall in the creek. A lot of running. An extra hour of work. And when they were finally corralled, night had fallen so deeply that he couldn't find all the posts he set up. So the line wrapped around some trees, and he didn't turn it on.
In the night, I heard dogs barking. When we moved here, there were reports of nasty packs killing calves, and I had horrible visions of dead calves littering the pasture.
By comparison, lost cows were not much to deal with.
While Phil fixed the line in the corral, I headed out to bring the cows back. They had ranged further than ever before, grazing almost up to neighbor Butch's house, three properties away. Once I reached the lead cow, I turned her around and then the whole herd headed back where they were supposed to go.
But I only had 15: one of the calves was missing. A little calf, somewhere on three properties, could be almost anywhere.
The cows reached their proper spot, and then kept going. (To keep their access open, the line was down, and they looped back out.) So Phil and I headed them off again. Somewhere along that stretch, we picked up the last calf. What a relief!
In other news, we've had a lot of rain. And snow. I have reached a point of morning sickness where I can hardly focus to write (hence, no posts since last Wednesday). I read as much as nine hours a day when I first started feeling ill, but I don't have that stamina any more. We have watched about a movie a day lately: the boys had their first taste of Romeo and Juliet and As You Like It. Also The Blind Side (Joe slept through that, which was probably good) and The Importance of Being Earnest. And Pixar. Lots of Pixar.
I don't know how chronically ill families manage. Phil is about at the end of his rope, trying to deep with cows and construction, basic cooking and cleaning. And parenting. And errands. I'll be ten weeks tomorrow. I usually feel better around week 20 (though maybe the worst is over before that? I don't remember). When he realized he might have ten more weeks, he said, "I don't think I'm going to make it."
We will make it. We have before. Perhaps it's nice that, when one has the flu, other people's angst fades in the moment to moment need to survive. In some ways, that's where I am. I'm sorry Phil is struggling, I'm sorry the boys are stuck inside watching more movies than I'd willingly choose, but physically I feel bad enough, I am not offering up much sympathy.
With such a cheery post as this, I feel like I should end on a happy note. Maybe something like, "So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past."
Wait. No. That's not a happy note!
(And that is actually the happy note. I can still make a literary joke, even from my super sick bed! Hooray for The Great Gatsby!)
This was actually a relief. Phil had gone late yesterday, despite feeling ill and run down, to move the cows into the next pasture, which required extra line stringing. He had about 100 feet to go, and the cows were far away in the previous pasture. He decided to open the pen, so he wouldn't have to hike back again later.
Sadly, the reel he grabbed to finish the job happened to be broken, and as the eager cows moved rapidly towards the opening, the entire 3000' of line suddenly balled into an unusable mass. How to keep 16 cows from escaping, without electric line or aid? And with a rotten dog chasing them where he didn't want them to go?
Almost impossible. A fall in the creek. A lot of running. An extra hour of work. And when they were finally corralled, night had fallen so deeply that he couldn't find all the posts he set up. So the line wrapped around some trees, and he didn't turn it on.
In the night, I heard dogs barking. When we moved here, there were reports of nasty packs killing calves, and I had horrible visions of dead calves littering the pasture.
By comparison, lost cows were not much to deal with.
While Phil fixed the line in the corral, I headed out to bring the cows back. They had ranged further than ever before, grazing almost up to neighbor Butch's house, three properties away. Once I reached the lead cow, I turned her around and then the whole herd headed back where they were supposed to go.
But I only had 15: one of the calves was missing. A little calf, somewhere on three properties, could be almost anywhere.
The cows reached their proper spot, and then kept going. (To keep their access open, the line was down, and they looped back out.) So Phil and I headed them off again. Somewhere along that stretch, we picked up the last calf. What a relief!
In other news, we've had a lot of rain. And snow. I have reached a point of morning sickness where I can hardly focus to write (hence, no posts since last Wednesday). I read as much as nine hours a day when I first started feeling ill, but I don't have that stamina any more. We have watched about a movie a day lately: the boys had their first taste of Romeo and Juliet and As You Like It. Also The Blind Side (Joe slept through that, which was probably good) and The Importance of Being Earnest. And Pixar. Lots of Pixar.
I don't know how chronically ill families manage. Phil is about at the end of his rope, trying to deep with cows and construction, basic cooking and cleaning. And parenting. And errands. I'll be ten weeks tomorrow. I usually feel better around week 20 (though maybe the worst is over before that? I don't remember). When he realized he might have ten more weeks, he said, "I don't think I'm going to make it."
We will make it. We have before. Perhaps it's nice that, when one has the flu, other people's angst fades in the moment to moment need to survive. In some ways, that's where I am. I'm sorry Phil is struggling, I'm sorry the boys are stuck inside watching more movies than I'd willingly choose, but physically I feel bad enough, I am not offering up much sympathy.
With such a cheery post as this, I feel like I should end on a happy note. Maybe something like, "So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past."
Wait. No. That's not a happy note!
(And that is actually the happy note. I can still make a literary joke, even from my super sick bed! Hooray for The Great Gatsby!)
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