Awake at 4:00 a.m. to drive my youngest to the airport for her trip. The dogs join us for the ride to Logan. So, we say goodbye and wave my daughter off to Costa Rico, and get out into the summer morning extra early for our walk. By the brook the jack-in-the-pulpit still stand up firmly under their striped hoods to greet us. We cross the trestle bridge to see what’s in bloom in the Meadow across Hospital Road. White campion and daisies and wild roses and sunshine. Today I will wash my wedding dress as the seamstress suggested: in the washing machine. I hold my breath and close the washer door. Soon, I find that the outer piece is fine; the lace is fresh and white. The inner slip - the part my daughter wants to wear is suddenly yellowed at the top. I try again, this time with a tougher detergent. Then I hang it in the sun to dry and most of the yellow has disappeared. So, I’m relieved and hopeful. I may do a little more work on it before our next appointment with Janee next week for the redesign. Now I have spent more time with my dress for this revision for my daughter than I spent with it as a bride myself. It feels as though it’s losing its mystique, becoming familiar. This is a good thing, I think. It has to un-become my wedding dress in order to become hers. And in that process, it will be renewed and acquire its own mystique: all hers. The youngest has arrived safely, sent pictures. This house misses her.