Mothers, daughters
In the book I'm reading (one of the aforementioned big ol' fat books in a big ol' fat series*), the main character is a woman who, at about my age, made the decision to leave her daughter, who is about my daughter's age, to move to Europe from America in order to spend the rest of her life with the man she loved.
In the book, the "move" was accomplished through time travel and the mother moved not only to Europe from Boston, but from 1969 to 1745. Which meant that when she and her daughter said their goodbyes, it was with the belief that they would never see one another again.
That goodbye scene in the book, of course, made me cry.
I said goodbye to my daughter, and my mother said goodbye to me, when I moved from America to Europe to be with the man I love, too.
I'm pretty sure that the daughter in the book is going to discover pretty soon that she too can travel through time. I'm pretty sure that a totally excellent reunion is on the way.
And I cannot even begin to say how glad I am that reunions with my own mother, with my own daughter, can happen pretty much whenever I have the money on hand to use the modern equivalent of the time travel machine. Every time the mother in the book I'm reading longs for her daughter, I think of my mother and of my daughter and am so incredibly grateful that in just a few weeks I'll be with them both. (And of course also with all of the other members of my family, but this entry is about mother-and-daughter reunions.)
And now I'm gonna go snuggle up in bed and read about my time-travelling doppelganger long into the wee hours of the morning again. In much the same way that Swedish bathtubs do not hold germs, Swedish beds automatically afford the body replenishment even if one just lies in one reading all night (a theory I seem to be testing to the absolute limits of human endurance this week).
* It's the Outlander Series by Diane Gabaldon that's got my reading fever up so high. But this entry is one big ol' spoiler if you're planning to start reading them. Forget I said anything.
In the book, the "move" was accomplished through time travel and the mother moved not only to Europe from Boston, but from 1969 to 1745. Which meant that when she and her daughter said their goodbyes, it was with the belief that they would never see one another again.
That goodbye scene in the book, of course, made me cry.
I said goodbye to my daughter, and my mother said goodbye to me, when I moved from America to Europe to be with the man I love, too.
I'm pretty sure that the daughter in the book is going to discover pretty soon that she too can travel through time. I'm pretty sure that a totally excellent reunion is on the way.
And I cannot even begin to say how glad I am that reunions with my own mother, with my own daughter, can happen pretty much whenever I have the money on hand to use the modern equivalent of the time travel machine. Every time the mother in the book I'm reading longs for her daughter, I think of my mother and of my daughter and am so incredibly grateful that in just a few weeks I'll be with them both. (And of course also with all of the other members of my family, but this entry is about mother-and-daughter reunions.)
And now I'm gonna go snuggle up in bed and read about my time-travelling doppelganger long into the wee hours of the morning again. In much the same way that Swedish bathtubs do not hold germs, Swedish beds automatically afford the body replenishment even if one just lies in one reading all night (a theory I seem to be testing to the absolute limits of human endurance this week).
* It's the Outlander Series by Diane Gabaldon that's got my reading fever up so high. But this entry is one big ol' spoiler if you're planning to start reading them. Forget I said anything.