It's cherry blossom time in DC. Which makes me think of Wendall. Most things do, but this is recognizable.

Each year, when cherry blossom time came around Wendall would tell the story about his teacher in GA. who went every year to see the festival in DC. The class could mention DC or cherry blossoms for months after her trip and count on a whole period free from study while she told  them all about it. I do wish I could hear that story once more.

No one leaves entirely, right.

Wendall is alive in this memory.

The teacher is alive in this memory.

Even my kids, who aren't dead yet, but are gone from that phase of our lives, are here in that memory. 

And I think of our kids that weren't there during that phase, but are part of my life now.

And their mother, Aggie.

And grand-kids who have been there, or are there. And graduation from law school. 

The ties and strings and connections are endless. And now I need to stop. My stomach is beginning to hurt.

 Everything is blooming here in Indy today and the air is filled with nostalgia.