totting up

Attended a baptism in a village called Thousand Heads.

This day, one culmination of eleven years of marriage, eight heroic attempts, too many losses to count or bear, and one (precious) reward:

A daughter, with a dark and unfortunate name, and a dress of lacy synthetics no one should have to wear in August.

Down between the mountains, there was drinking and dancing, waterfalls and ducks. I watched a kid wearing nothing but brands. He had arresting sapphire eyes, in a perpetual state of surprise or joy. We were equally enthralled, I in him, and he in two Smart cars.

I didn't see much of the baby, but her name was on all the balloons -- three of which got caught in the trees, while most of the others, unloosed by little fingers, went straight to the sky.