I’m in Wakefield. We just drove through torrential rain to get here from Mont Tremblant. It was a long journey, though it felt much longer than it was. It felt like an eternity in the car with no fresh air coming in or going out. Just a stillness that could not be removed until the windows came down when the heavens stopped falling.

But I am out of the car now. I can breathe once again. And I can stretch my road weary body. And I can stare at the water out the window. And I can.. and I can.. and I can.

At least I think I can.

I’ve decided that I will try my hand at living life as the ‘little engine that could’. From this day forward, I will not only think I can, I will. I will see the sun in a different light. One that’s not blinding, but that both burns and heals. I will sing until my throat is hoarse from the words that I truly mean to say. I will listen. And I will understand.

If we took our advice from children’s books all the time, the world would be a much more interesting place. There would be green eggs on my breakfast plate (and it would be okay). There would be large red talking dogs prowling the streets and cats would wear hats. But there would also be a lot of love. Maybe that’s where we went wrong as we grew taller. We let the ways of this stormy world creep in, and the love out of our sails.

So I suggest that as soon as possible, we should all find a children’s book, one that teaches (not preaches) about love, and sit it on our bedside tables for that rainy day, when the sun is still blinding.

Lisa

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