No post yesterday. I spent much of the day running around, working on our licencia from the oficina bebides alcoholicas. I thought I had all the paperwork in order but two of the reports have to be less than 30 days old. Ours "expired" on January 27. Argh! Oh, well. At least they were two of the easier reports to get. It just meant more back-and-forth between Aguadilla and Isabela. Today, I finally got all the papers in and OFFICIALLY applied for our licencia.
When I was home, the internet access was maddingly, irritatingly, annowingly inconsistent. It's probably just as well.
Today's photo is not really about the beach. It is about endlessness, infinite space, loss, loneliness, the unknowable, the depths of the ocean as metaphor for the depths of feeling and the darkness of grief. But it's also about the growing light of a new day, about layers in life, about the consistency of change.
Yesterday, February 7, would have been my mother's 80th birthday. She died three years ago, three weeks shy of her 78th birthday.
I miss her. Terribly.
Somewhere in the universe she is watching and cheering this great adventure. But I miss sharing our adventure with her earthly self. She would love this place. She would love visiting here. But you know, I don't think she'd want to live here. She was very attached to her home outside of Cincinnati, Ohio, and no matter how much she enjoyed a visit, she always reached a point, usually after a few days, where she had to return to her home.
Happy birthday, Marti, even if it's a day late. We love you.
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