Struggling with the decisions before me - about my hobbies, about my professional life, about ThePurist178.com and TZ, commitments on my time and the choices I have to make - I played hooky this afternoon and popped Hanging Up, with Meg Ryan and Walter Matthau, into the VCR.
As the story plays, and Eve is pulled in a million directions and her father slides from alternating bouts of crankiness to increasing confusion, and ultimately coma and death, my mind wanders a bit, to my grandmother, to my daughters, to my father...
I remember something Ms. Jones once told me, three, four years ago.
Leah was four then, and one day, she called to Ms. Jones from the yard of her pre-school. Thinking something was wrong, Ms. Jones anxiously rushed out to see what was the matter. Leah was sitting on a large rock, and repeated, "Ms. Jones, come here."
Curious what Leah wanted, Ms. Jones walked over to her, and asked her, "What's wrong, honey?"
Leah told her with a slight smile, "Sit down," and pointed to a spot on the rock next to her.
Thinking that Leah had something important to talk to her about, or that something was amiss, Ms. Jones sat down and asked again, "What's wrong, sweetie?"
Leah beamed up at her, took Ms. Jones' hand in her own, and looked off into the distance.
"Oh, nothing. I just want you to sit with me."
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