Some Eva Cassidy. . .
Because I'm feeling in need of a brief interlude today.
Yesterday's events in Boston touched me profoundly. Horrific and senseless violence is always disturbing. But I can't quite shake what happened at the Boston Marathon.
As the spouse of a rather serious runner, I know what it's like to wait at the finish line. In fact, I've waited at that very finish line. . .
You stand there, in the press of the crowd. Watching. Waiting. Checking the time. Looking. Looking. Checking the time. Waiting.
And expecting . . . to celebrate and congratulate and support . . . once your particular runner crosses that finish line.
You don't expect exploisons.
My heart feels this one deeply.