But it sobers you up in the holiday season. I can carry around their sadness with me. Somehow there's a pall over tidings of comfort and joy. Those poor families, those poor kids who went through that, the lost and the surviving.
An ongoing quest for the meaning of life. Does true happiness exist in a Tory Burch turquoise-trimmed sheath, a MarieBelle Dark Chocolate Croquette bar, a rose garden, a rocky Maine beach, a daughter's eyes, an inky star-sprinkled sky, hours of computer keystrokes that tell a story--or all of the above?