The Bakery July 24 I went to the bakery today, and I wanted to tell you that you were right about which sandwich is the best. I was so sad being there alone. Sometimes I can’t tell if I miss you, or if I’m starting to get lonely. I remembered how when it was cold, we’d wait in line for it to open, hoods up, faces pressed together, kissing and giggling to stay warm. It is so terribly sad the way our loved died so slowly, so painfully over time. Eventually, you stood with your back to me in the cold. Sometimes you would say it was because of the wind. But our happiness was fading beneath everything becoming so much harder. The day you left with your things, left our marriage forever, I went out in the morning and got you pastries from the bakery. I didn’t know what else to do. Mendenhall Glacier August 6 On our first trip to Alaska, we flew over Mendenhall Glacier and visited a little lodge at the foot of its base. It was one of our last happy trips together. The sun was shining on the ice, and it was something to behold. People said: “Here's hoping it never moves.” We ate wild salmon and fed the excess to the hungry black bears. We watched the pilot’s dogs eat wild blueberries from the branches in the woods. Years later, we’d watch our little dog do the same. Today, I read that a dam broke in that glacier, releasing a massive body of water, swallowing up whole houses in its wake. It showed no mercy. It looked so familiar, so majestic and yet I remembered that although it was beautiful, it was unpredictable, chaotic. It could turn on a dime, and it did.
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