Do you want any breakfast, Sam?” my mom asks. I never eat breakfast at home, but my mom still asks me every day—when she catches me before I duck out, anyway—and in that moment I realize how much I love the
little everyday routines of my life: the fact that she always asks, the fact that I always say no because there’s a sesame bagel waiting for me in Lindsay’s car, the fact that we always listen to “No More Drama” as we pull into
the parking lot. The fact that my mom always cooks spaghetti and meatballs on Sunday, and the fact that once a month my dad takes over the kitchen and makes his “special stew,” which is just hot-dog pieces and baked beans
and lots of extra ketchup and molasses, and I would never admit to liking it, but it’s actually one of my favorite meals. The details that are my life’s special pattern, like how in handwoven rugs what really makes them unique are the tiny flaws in the stitching, little gaps and jumps and stutters that can never be reproduced. So many things become beautiful when you really look.
1987: YOU asked me to marry you tonight...You are 43 and HANDSOME---and I am 42 and STILL BEAUTIFUL.....But when the 'BLOOM IS OFF OF MY ROSE---and my hair is WHITE---and the AGING PROCESS HAS TAKEN IT'S TOLL ON BOTH OF US'.....I WILL STILL LOVE YOU-----But---WILL YOU STILL LOVE ME TOMORROW?
And HE SAID HE WOULD-------AND HE DID.