“You know what I’ve learned over the years from fairy tales?” asked Harper Lee, all decked out in her Snow White finery, as we drove to the Magic Kingdom this morning.

 “No.  What have you learned?” I asked.

“That most of the time when you ask a magic toad or a fairy for a baby, that baby grows up to have a pretty hard life.  The moral here is to just go to an adoption agency and be happy.”

OK.  Seems reasonable.

We got a later start at the Magic Kingdom than we probably should have, but it was still a fun day.  I mean, it’s Disney, right?

We got a little spoiled yesterday while we are at Legoland.  The crowds aren’t quite on par with what Disney has going on, so maybe we were lulled into a false sense of this all being like a vacation.  Disney is fun.  It’s magical even.  It is not a vacation.  I’ve never seen so many bedraggled adults wearing $30 sequined mouse ears in my life. 

Still, the joy on Harper Lee and Isaac’s faces makes standing in long lines in the Florida heat and humidity for a 30 second ride in a Hunny Pot totally worth it.

It’s a blessing, this life.

I just hate that it takes something like Boston to remind us of it most of the time.  We had both friends and family at the race; fortunately, everyone we knew had already finished.  Most were making their way back to their cars with spouses and children in tow. 

I feel sad about any tragic event.  It’s one of the reasons I don’t keep up with the nightly news.  Sometimes, the sadness of it all overwhelms me and increases my fear, something I work hard to keep under control.  This particular event really hit close to center though because if there’s one thing I’ve always said about races of any kind, it is, “Races are the safest place in the world.”  And I believed it.  I never worry about locking stuff up or leaving an article of clothing lying around at a race.  No one will bother it.  Runners are some of the nicest, most supportive people you’ll find anywhere.  Races have always felt like a celebration to me, a big party to celebrate the very act of living.  I never start a race that I don’t thank God for the gift of being there, the gift of being able to run.

That was attacked yesterday.  Those kinds of people were attacked—people who were running to prove they could do it and people who came to cheer them on in their endeavor, people who, in my mind, represent the very best in us.  And again, I find myself heart-broken that good people have suffered for no reason.

But just because I’m sad, it doesn’t mean I have given up hope in people.  There are more of the good– the ones who strive to achieve more than they dreamed of and the ones who encourage and support and cheer– than the ones who planted those bombs. 

I think this place is still magical, that the good far outnumber the bad and that strength, resilience, and love will always win in the end.

Thoughts and prayers, Boston.