Sunday was gorgeous in Northern California, weirdly summery and hot, and we were at a memorial for my friend Frank Sclafani, who died suddenly and unexpectedly in the fall, a young, vibrant 59, gone too soon.

The crowd overfilled the space, and stories about Frank’s warmth and gentle kindness were everywhere. So much to celebrate, and so much to grieve.

It’s a wonderful reminder that we’ve got to savor every moment. I realize I touched too briefly on the joyful interlude I had with my kids last week, buried in my worries and anxieties about parenthood, which are all well and good. But look at these happy, crazy kids!

There’s so much energetic, contagious, silly joy in these kids, so much life and expression. It would be foolish not to count myself lucky to have them, every minute. It’s the best gift I’ve ever been given, and I hope the gratitude I feel shines through a bit even in my worst laments.

We totally lucked out with these kids, and I’m having the adventure of my life. Thank you, thank you, thank you!