This morning we took the kids to a nearby town where we all sat and watched an honest-to-god parade, the first I’ve seen in years. It was charming and quaint and included familiar sights like bagpipers and kids on unicycles and that poor S.O.B who has to follow the horses with a shovel. The kids scrabbled for thrown candy and clapped their hands over their ears when the fire engines trundled by and I kept thinking, oh, I want to live where they have small-town parades.

The silly thing, of course, is that I do live where they have small-town parades. Jesus, we drove maybe fifteen minutes to get there.

I know what I mean when I think that, but sometimes it’s obvious to me that I get caught up in dreams of where we want to be—our someday-home, our someday-town, our someday-lives—and forget that there’s so much here, right now.







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