Grief/Joy Syndrome

If there is such a thing as grief/joy syndrome, we have it bad here in Margaritaville. My mom told me at least half-a-dozen times how delicious dinner was last night. I baked a delicata squash, poached a piece of salmon in my usual manner--in dry vermouth, seasoned with dill, and dabbed with butter (my aunt's recipe,) and steamed a bag of Trader Joes's super greens with absolutely nothing to jazz them up. My mom ate like she was thrilled to be alive, and I have to say I'm taking particular delight in the end of season yellow plums from the farmer's market. Each and every one tastes like the best plum ever. Saturday's left over black bean and sweet potato soup might have been the most delicious breakfast I've ever consumed, and the water and the sky here are a blue beyond reproach right now. There are butterflies and dragon flies on the beach and on our patio, and they are an orange so bright I expect they might combust spontaneously. This year's pelicans dive into the ocean ever so much more dramatically than last year's, and the sand has gone from, well, sand-colored to almost white. We are drunk on life here in Margaritaville.