100 books ago

I am trying to heal from the neuro-gulleys and trenches that my brain made when Roscivs was sick and dying, and after he died: I would — without prompting — think "a year ago today he wasn't even sick ... and look at me now" or "two years ago we were eating out at foobar ... and look at me now".
   You might think that this would be comforting. No. It is depressing. When this happens, I suffer, even more than I already was suffering.
   It is comforting to me to remind myself that Roscivs was a person who lived wholly in the present and a person who believed comparison is the cause of almost all suffering.

But sometimes looking back is nice. When I am just remembering — not comparing, not despairing.
   Today I looked back using Goodreads.
   100 books ago I was in Texas, visiting my dear sister Mona and her nuclear family — a husband and two children, my niece and nephew. My nephew turned 5 while I was there. We read the "llama llama" books. It was a sweet time.