Blessing the space
Rain was forecast the day our "goodbye Aricos" gathering was scheduled – a scenario unheard of in sunny Ventura, land of no-raindates-needed. The two beloved neighbors hosting the shindig on the tight, well-kempt cul-de-sac we called home decided to postpone a day. The adjustment conflicted with a few schedules, but the nearest and dearest came along to the little cookout, sweet hand-made sign our backdrop, where we ate and chatted about the farm we'd be moving to in King George, Virginia – the rural town we'd be adopting in middle January, the 100-year old house we'd be renovating.
As the babies began to fuss and the paper plates were being gathered up, several pulled up to offer quick hugs and goodbyes. T was one. "I just stole away for a minute," she said, toddler on her hip, a house-full of relatives back home with her husband and other kids. "But I came because I wanted to tell you this: you changed my life."
