I won't bore you with the details. You know what matters, anyway. My son, having been given a dream opportunity in a wonderful Philadelphia agency, moved to the city this weekend. The place could not be more perfect—old and also new, a studio with elbow room, nice light, new systems. When we visited again this afternoon to help attend to some details that certainly didn't need our attending (the excuses parents make!), I took the chance to take a quick neighborhood walk.
Into Rittenhouse Square I went—my hair all humid, my shorts a little baggy, my ear pressed to a phone conversation with my friend Kelly. All of a sudden, they appeared—not one but three afternoon wedding parties. I had no real camera to speak of, but snapped away with my phone (goodbye, Kelly). The third bride got wind of me (perhaps she reads this blog?) and vanished before I could place a trace of her here.
But here are two of the brides encountered on this day, two of the journeys now under way. A few blocks north, the Parkway was jammed with the Made in America crowds. A few miles south, Bruce Springsteen was in the house, warming up for yours truly, who will see him (rain or shine!) tomorrow. A few blocks east, my son in his happy new home.
All in all, an afternoon of love.
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