On the way to work today….my husband paused, “I shouldn’t tell you what I saw…..he said, “there was a fire engine with its lights on, No policemen, no rush either, just a large yellow bag at the curb as they stood at the cross walk. I didn’t need him to finish-but he usually censors this stuff for me, the irrelevant details of his day, I know this about him. I also know that after years of marriage counseling and clinging to “us” instead of him and me, as each of us goes about our day without one another, we have started to share more things, things that tug at us, relevant or not. He needn’t point out to me, that I am special to him, and he was telling me this, without so many words. He was saying, without saying, neither one of us knows what tomorrow brings, so let’s just really suck the juice out of today. It may have just been a forgotten moment by the time he arrived at work, a moment that was “disturbing” and didn’t sit right with the warm voice on NPR and a cup of coffee steaming the car window just slightly. I was glad to be reminded how different this week is, about how last week he couldn’t ponder surviving “the most stressful week he had ever had at his job,” now over and done. this week interruptions feel more welcome, he is gratefully aware of the good he brings the world as he sits at his desk, bombarded with constant email, not thinking about the waterfront view of his Elliot bay office. What he doesn’t say, I hear in the silence in between his words. Perhaps that is what made me take a little more time on my make-up this morning, and take a little more care to match my shoes to my outfit today. His story fueled me, even with its sorrow, I hadn’t realized how affected I was until after my new cookie recipe-I tried just to surprise the kids, came out a little misshapen and…well floppy- still I was pleasantly and uncharacteristically overjoyed with their imperfection today. I appreciate with grandiosity, that everything is a meaningful detail in my story; just as is each moment of your story…. like mine, it too has an ending, maybe joyous, or sorrowful or shocking, or peaceful a story-nonetheless, with an ending we cannot possibly know.