For as long as it lasts

Today I finished reading the book 'Laurinda' by Alice Pung, which fourteen-year old Nathan recommended to me, from his English reading list last term. Afterwards I got up to throw the bunch of scrunched up tissues into the bin. The book was an easy read, but uneasy on the heart. Good stuff doesn't always have to feel good.

Apart from the above-mentioned text, I've also enjoyed side-splitting funny, as well as deep philosophical discussions on other books on his list, including 'Animal Farm', 'The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy', 'The Martian' and 'A Midsummer Night's Dream'.

With my eleven-year old Grace, it has been just the best fun talking over our shared delights and exasperations over classic novel heroines like Anne Shirley, Elizabeth Bennett, Emma Woodhouse, Jane Eyre and the Dashwood sisters.

...On this side of the horizon, these are truly the best days....

Early last year, I turned the page of that last chapter of 'The Hobbit' and kissed my babies goodnight.

Like all the other last times, you will never know when it is the last time.

For as long as it lasted, it was every night without fail. One book. Or two. Three. Four. Five. Ten books. Hungry Caterpillars. Gruffaloes. Bear Hunts. Green Sheep. Cats in Hats. Ferdinand.

We progressed to reading a chapter together every other day. Often two. And maybe another page more. Chocolate Factories. Magic Chairs. Wizards. Dragons. Friendly Giants. Wonderland and Neverland.

For one magic hour on those nights under the covers, we were transported to our very own private never-never land.

I knew from the beginning that nothing lasts forever.

A thing isn't beautiful because it lasts.

It is a privilege to be right here for as long as it does.

Now, please excuse me while I go belt out the latest 'Wicked' soundtrack with my girl and vibe with my son as he jams to the Eagles and AC/DC on his new electric guitar.