My oldest daughter hanging out after her first tap dance recital. Where does it go–really–the time? A sudden heap that is unaccounted for on one hand, and then with a little digging, all is remembered. Thank god for the cues that come from photography. One minute you’re eighteen and it’s protest songs, black flags, and drinking to a rising sun, and the next you’re thirty and it’s making sure daughters don’t dirty their dresses before performing in front a sea of parents bathed in an electric blue glow because they are documenting everything to send to people they know, and quite often, don’t know at all. *Sigh* On a less cynical note, recitals and end of school years mark my favorite time–vacation time–and I’m off to the Smoky Mountains for a week, a week that I’m hoping is scant on technology and robust in the quietude of nature. Take care.