Once when she was six or seven I asked Elizabeth what her favorite place was in the whole world she replied



  1. Happy Easter Patty. I love and miss you!


  2. Easterland, with its great oval shapes and bright colors...the deep, rich brown of a chocolate bunny...spring flowers, wind chimes, and billowy, floral skirts. What's not to like? Wise girl.
    May it be Easterland for you today.
    Wishing you much peace.


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How Dina Aunty relished her memories. Mummy and Daddy were the same, talking about their yesterdays and smiling in that sad-happy way while selecting each picture, each frame from the past, examining it lovingly before it vanished again in the mist. But nobody ever forgot anything, not really, though sometimes they pretended, when it suited them. Memories were permanent. Sorrowful ones remained sad even with the passing of time, yet happy ones could never be re-created—not with the same joy. Remembering bred its own peculiar sorrow. It seemed so unfair: that time should render both sadness and happiness into a source of pain.

> From A Fine Balance by Rohinton Mistry