We walk out in the morning to a coffee shop, our orders are in sync by now, and the most beautiful barrista knows what we want; well, what he wants now that he's changed his order, realizes I want the same thing, but with less ice. We say, "hey" to to the laptop-surfing dudes, and they clear the window table with view and sunshine next to the bookcase with Time-Life Encyclopedia of the Paranormal in it. We have a typically morning-coffee loopy conversation, "what do you think about spontaneous combustion? Look."
I go to my appointment -- not only great news, but I have been a lesson about how to do follow-on biopsies finding pre-cancer in breast cancer survivors. I make the doctor's office print out the poetry manuscript I've been working. I buy a bottle of champagne of a sort that has special meaning to us, but it is warm. I interrupt his work to put it in the fridge, say "it is a celebration", then get lost. I return at five, it is still sunny, and he says, "I'm going to get the rest of dinner." While we generally cook together well, this is our secondmost exceptional meal (runner up is wild salmon poached in white wine with dill, broccoli rabe). "Unusually yummy, what sort of meat was that?" we asked each other. Thin-sliced rib eye (treated as skirt steak by me), we discovered, after I rifled through the trash. And we finished the champagne as the sun set.