There are some moments that can’t be documented. There are no statisticians with figures behind these parts of time. They slip into the past seemingly, unnoticed.
Whether it’s a big thing like a million-plus people all screaming into the fog and shooting out fireworks in some sort of effort to seem triumphant and together;
or it’s the fact that today Violet pronounced her drink “lemolade”, and we probably won’t notice when she gets it right;
or it’s that one indiscernible note within the score, or the flash of the autumn grasses, or the blue eye-shadow on a twelve-year-old in “Moonrise Kingdom”, that gets my big lug of a husband shedding a tear;
there’s no putting your finger on that.