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 Saturday, August 2, 2008

This Life

It was Friday. The dog and I were finishing a short run around the lake. And even though the sun was low, it was still brutally hot, so we weren't exactly a pretty sight to see.

When we got there, you were there sitting in the shade on a rock under a tree waiting for us. And you suggested a place for dinner, which was a good thing, for the dog and I were in no condition to make decisions.

When we got there, the restaurant was empty. We had the pick of tables on the patio. And as we waited for our food, nighttime descended.

A flame burned from the top of the fountain next to the table. You read the paper. The dog crunched on ice cubes. I guzzled iced tea. And after the food arrived, I looked up and confessed that that was the best meal I had had in a long, long time.

Afterwards we just sat there as the world walked by on the sidewalk and drove by on bikes and in cars. You continued reading. The dog continued crunching. And I put my feet up and leaned back.

What did we talk about? I barely was there, so happy was I to be sitting with my feet up having eaten that wonderful meal and rehydrated myself with three glasses of tea. What did we talk about? We were there for a long time, and I remember us talking, but I'll be darned if I can remember a thing.

I do remember this: as we walked back to the car holding hands with the dog pulling on his leash (because perhaps he knew that his meal awaited him at home), you looked over at me and said, "I'm very happy with our life."

Me, too. I'm happy with this life we have made, you, the dog and me.

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