* In the late afternoon I sit at the scarred oak table looking out through the door, cup of coffee cooling at my elbow. The fish kite hung from the maple's limb barely sways . The grass is dappled with sunlight, water glistening on blades. A Sunday contentment.
* Pushing him in the wheelchair through old town is quite nice. I feel the workout even in my gluts. I am in control of our pace and pause at windows to gaze at the displays--something I could not do if we were both walking. It would be, "Oh, what a lovely...ach, I cannot stop, he wants to go on." I can actually read the titles on book and gasp at the draping of clothing on the models. Giggle at posters for sale depicting sweaty male bicyclists.
* I buy a poster...the exact one that I removed from the wall when he said, "Take that down, my mother would not like it." 44 years ago.
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