I've had little enthusiasm for blogging of late but if I never link to another piece of writing this would be a beautiful one to finish up with:
Loving a Child on the Fringe by Cristina Nehring
Cut to: Paris, fall 2012. I am sitting next to my cherry-lipped, porcelain-skinned daughter, now 4 years old. I step out of the medical transport van that has ferried us home from her preschool and heave her onto the sidewalk. She giggles and extends two fingers to stroke my cheek. Before the driver can pull away from the curb, I gather her against my heart, draw back a few inches, smile in wonder into her radiant smile, and kiss her face and hair and temples as holiday shoppers stop and stare.And they are not. Read the rest and pass it on.
Eurydice’s and my walks through town are punctuated by spontaneous remakes of Doisneau’s “The Kiss”—except with toddler and mother switched in for boy and girl. Not that things are easy . . .
Hat tip to @jpodhoretz , whose very next tweet linked to a sharply contrasting item, though it claimed to be about -- of all things! --unconditional love. The world is upside-down, no?
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