Spiritual frost.

This Sunday morning in particular, Sam took PJ and Ben out for an early breakfast and then straight to church, where we joined them for a quiet memorial-type service, everyone in black, everyone with poppies. No one with coffee today, as we had church on the beach and really the only caveat is that you bring a warm coat, an umbrella and boots because the sand is messy. PJ led the hymns, an honor Sam rarely deploys to anyone but used to follow Jacob's lead in picking the person who seemed to need the most God that week from his observation. PJ didn't mind and did it with enthusiasm. Especially ending with Amazing Grace, a number Ben brought his bagpipes out for, a sound that reverberates right through my bones and into my brain in the best way possible.

I was impressed, anyway. I may also never be warm again, antsy as I held both the hands of Lochlan and Caleb, bounced on my toes, leaned against one and then the other, wishing I had worn the proper gear but opted for waterproofness over warmth.

I was not a distraction though.

Now we're home and I have Ben's hoodie on over my church clothes and we are plotting Japanese food for lunch which is fine by me, I'm excited. I did the laundry quickly and I'm ready and somehow I'm stuck waiting for everyone else. I feel good right now. I had eight hours sleep. I didn't wake up, didn't leave the bed, didn't wish for ghosts or see them anyway and I want to get on with the day before I fall in the hole I can see from here.