I’m working on a project about my maternal grandparents’ love story right now, which basically means I’ve been spending a lot of time hunched over a scanner, weeping. This photo, in particular, just wrecks me. I can’t look at it for too long or I will summarily lose it. He is so handsome and casual, and she is so adorably plucky, perched there on the hitch between that proto-U-Haul and their car.
Why does old age have to be so cruel? I am absolutely crushed by the unfairness of it all.
I think about them, and my parents, night and day, without relief.
(Somewhat related: I’ve decided that I would like to die instantaneously, in a fiery car crash, when I am 75.)
In lighter news, we are constantly grateful for what marvelous friends we have and how much they love and support us and make us laugh and inspire us. This is the main reason we have no plans for leaving Charlottesville.