My lovely daughters.

All my life -- well, since about 1970, when I became a knee-jerk liberal anti-patriarchy anti-goal-oriented nonlinear pro-intuitions feminist, at least -- I always feel compelled to add the true-enough "full set" to that. "Smart, tough, beautiful daughters" usually does it.

But today they are, simply, my lovely daughters. The rest is just background.

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Eliana, newly 15, rode yesterday in an important event, and did so well. Today she helps to earn it, returning to the barn early, in her 4H tee, to groom, and braid/unbraid, curry, clean, and much more. Most of all to support the younger girls and peers who compete today in the 4H show.

Eli had to choose between yesterday and today, because of cost. Yesterday won out, as it helps her ranking and gave her a big boost in the national scores for Bit of Straw. She came in 2nd, so her overall ranking is now approx 15th.

Eli never has problems changing hats, from competitor to barn rat. She uses a very talented barn horse, Taylor, and does not own a horse. Didn't stop her from taking Reserve Champ in Eq, and Grand Champion in 2.5 foot yesterday. She seems immune to class distinctions and cheap elevation based on money or success.

 This is the kid who dragged me all over Cornell U when she was 11, in order to see live horse surgery.

OK, enough of that. Here is the main thing: she stabbed the channel changer this morning, en route to Lucky C, told my wife that song was in her head all day yesterday as she rode and jumped. Deb says: that was probably why you did so well yesterday, kept your pace, your rhythm. Eli witheringly responded that she ALWAYS sings when she rides.

I love this. I wish I could bundle up all of her for you, to reveal why this is such a remarkable insight. She is high honor roll, excels in math, all AP courses in HS, but you would never know this by her public persona. She is, in a word, hilarious. Spontaneous, fearless with new people, classic performer. Think Fanny Brice, think Cyndi Lauper, Adam from American Idol: the need to be Out There.

The first time she played ping pong I was sweating to keep up and I am good. She is all fast twitch muscle/funny.

So the idea that she does something so soothing, so pastoral, as singing her pace thru tough, tight courses, on a half-ton horse (did I mention she is slim & wiry? always choose the muscled up & wild badboys to ride?), this idea, this insight and vision into her, has me marveling, and full of profound hope.

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Roxanne, nearly 17, came into the world awake and observant. Deb had difficulties, so we were a crowd in there, for the C section. The first response to Rocky came from Dr. Roger, a lundsman and friend, too, who said, "well, look at this! She's looking at us".

And my first glimpse of her was of porcelain skin, eyes that tracked fingers, taking it all in. Comments filled the air, noting her unique consciousness, with "she's awake" and "I have never seen such an aware newborn" and more.

Rocky studies and prepares, never acts impulsively. It keeps her on the high honor roll. This also helped to make her NYS Beam champion this year. She is perfectly suited to gymnastics, a natural, and knew this when she was 8 years old. But I have worried about her reserve. I have seen how caution and reticence has cost her, preventing easy friendships, and, in her first HS years, real anguish.

No more. She blossomed this year, finding her footing with human beings, balanced and beaming, and now she has a boyfriend, her first.

Yesterday, I saw something that thrilled me to my deepest core, confirmed her new qualities for me, and gave me a profound understanding of my own hope for all my daughters: genuine happiness.

She and her friend Krista had just arrived, and were sitting on the back gate of a truck outside our kitchen window, with their respective boyfriends. Rocky's friend Billy is a quiet, deeply respectful boy, who babysits his little brother.

Rocky sat, Billy paced, deadpan, and Rocky was laughing. I couldn't hear what Billy was saying; apparently he was on some riff. His body language was preternaturally mature, as if he were emulating Cary Grant or James Bond.

Rocky was more relaxed than I have seen her, since she was 7 maybe; no: ever. She looked like a confident young woman, the college girl she will become. And she laughed. Not the slightly sarcastic laugh we usually get, not the wicked snickers she shares with Eli, usually at our expense. This was easy laughter, joy in the limbs, she hugged herself and leaned back and kept re-settling, as if her usual body positions were not quite right for the kind of expansive happiness she was feeling.

From the grapevine we hear that Billy is devastated if Rocky is upset with him. I know from this. Rocky is demanding of life. Rocky is a piece of work. She requires a guy to give her plenty of space. She is post-feminist in this regard: 360 degrees aware, and wicked smart, and cannot even imagine compromising Strong, just for some guy.

I am amazed she has found someone who can do what I can't really do anymore, in a way I never could: make her feel Great.

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Molly, at 32, is re-starting her life and I have written about this before. But she is happy this last week, and she, too, is more relaxed, more confident, more capable than at any other point in her life.

She has helped me for weeks, ever since moving up to the grounds of the enormous resort where she works, one of dozens of critical employees who live in the dorms and cottages on the thousand acre property. (She trains to be management.)

Her help to me has been critical: packing, trips to the dump, cleanup. The worst of work, in the garage and the basement. Yeah. THAT stuff.

Here's the point: when it looked like I was about to lose out on the heirloom seedling sale that is my annual Big Purchase, the way I install most of my 1200' garden, she offered up some cash for me.  I was trying to demur, when she launched into the most exquisite, brief, unflinching list of what we have done for her in the last 6 months.

For all of her new-found strengths, this was unexpected, laying it out so plain, without caveats or waffling. It took her re-establishing her independence, perhaps, to help her find this new voice. I realized taking this small gift made us co-equal adults, each helping the other, and being gracious in acceptance seemed like a gift I could make. So I did.

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I fail at describing this adequately. Being a parent means resolving to persevere, as you watch slow-motion problems and long-term development, improvements at an excruciating pace, pain that simple instructions can prevent. But no one can hear those words until they are old enough. We wait and hope.

And then, sometimes, we have a week like mine, gifts unexpected, life as a rich cave of wonders, when our children turn out be Brave and Strong and Happy, poised at the opening, giving me a sly glance: Of course this is how we are, What were you worried about? We are subtle and complete now.

And they walk away, alert, capable, right in the bones, calm in the sinews, hearts made of steady, ready muscle.