It's Sunday night.
I tell her, "This isn't like all the others. I'm just going to do what I can do. I'm not going to stress about it."
She says, "Right."
And the thought does occur to me that this is no different than anything or anywhere else.
He talks about the old days. We nod in the romantic notion that they were all good. Then he says something about now and moving and here, right here, this is what it was building up to. And here I thought there would be fireworks or confetti being thrown around, but nope.
It's just quiet relief that this is what it always was.
Today I am grateful for Wednesday nights when I was a kid, for Sunday nights now. I am grateful for the perfect hiking weather, how she said that buzzards are airplanes and how we could both just listen as she explained the entire plot to a movie. I am grateful for the table where we all sat.