it's the little things that make me cry

I can face the fact of death with open eyes. I can sling gallows humor with the best of them; I can curse about health system bureaucracies like the Bronx native that I am. I can digest lab test results with my breakfast, and I can count the years until my loved ones die.

But you know, it's the small things, the unexpected sentimentalities, that catch me off guard and make the tears well up.

He sent me a photograph that he took of a crocus this morning. Two naked veined petals, defiantly violet against the clinging Ottawa ice and snow. Standing upright for now, but it certainly isn't clear whether the thin translucent petals will outlast the snow's onslaught, or whether this will be the frost that they succumb to.

Could we be any more flippin' symbolic if we tried?

My pocketbook is in *such* trouble... :-)

Rite Aid just started stocking really pretty barrettes. I have a weakness for really pretty barrettes, the kind that have lots of colors and sparklies and victorian-esque swirls.