Remember that day?

The day the friendly grey haired woman walked up to you in the Walgreens in Evanston, smiled and said “Well, hello Maria? How are you? Are you still dancing?” Remember how you said, “Hi Mrs. Cusack! Good to see you. Yep, I sure am!”

Remember how as soon as she was out of earshot I said, “Mrs. Cusack????? Was that . . .”

“Mmm. Yeah. That was John and Susie’s mother.”

“You knew. . . . .”

“I used to dance with Susie. And yes, John would drive us home. He was really nice. . . “

“He was really. . . .when was the last time she saw you?” I asked, thinking well, there’s the first of many questions.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Has to be at least 15 years,” you answered

“And he was really nice?” I continued.

“Mmm.” You answered. And then added, “Susie was great!”

“15 years. And she remembers you. Think of all the people who sat around her dinner table. And she remembers you.”

You shrugged your shoulders and said, “so we need, what. . . . toothpaste?”

“People remember you Maria.”

“No more than anyone else.” In your voice just a simple statement of a fact.

That was before I understood that your work was loving the world.

Now that look of recognition is easy to see. Often from the tiny wide eyed twinkle toed little girl looking up speechless as we walk into a Starbucks or a neighborhood place, the parent saying “Go ahead! You can say hi to Miss Maria. You can say hi to your ballet teacher!

Just last week a friend ushers his young girls into the back of the mini-van shouting over his shoulder to me “You’re the biggest celebrity they’ve seen all day!” To which I answered, “No, I’m just married to one.”

Four years ago tomorrow. And marking 12 years together. The wedding was around the time we usually head up to Lake Woebegone to see what kind of a week it’s been.

The pastor’s voice ringing tones of silver joy to every tingling corner of the open door welcoming church. “There is something in the two of you,” he proclaims, “something in your love that is never forced, that is natural, that some might say is even inevitable. And it isn’t just about your faithful presence in this church, your love for a sorrowful baseball team, and your journeys to your beloved Door County. . . .”

Remember that day?

All the little ones dressed in their finest sitting up straight. Listening as your Dad sang a song not played at a whole lot of weddings? And he delivered that gift wrapped up just as well as Coltrane and Johnny Hartman did it here?

Remember how our favorite hymn echoed in the sweeping vaulted ceilings adding a shining luster of blue to the Moravian Star ? As the chorus of all of us sang:

Now because your love has touched me,

I have love to give away;

Now the bread of love is rising,

Loaves of love to multiply!

Take the fruit that I have gathered

From the tree your spirit sowed

Harvest of your own compassion

Juice that makes the wine of God

Spiced with humor, laced with laughter.

Remember that day?

No presents. Just bring your favorite dish. An honest pot luck wedding So it was a meal they still talk about.

Remember that day when we had no clue that what I did in running national service and training operations would be work that would go the way of the blacksmith?  No clue that all the call centers would move to Bangalore or Waukesha or Sioux Falls. And that spending money to train anybody in anything, especially managers, would become quaint.

But even in not knowing, you somehow had the idea marrying somebody who looked like this when he was working was a good idea

An idea I still don’t understand. Even though I know it’s true.

Remember that day when we had no clue that dance would become the luxury only of that sliver of the wealthiest. Not as many tiny pink ballerina’s as there used to be---classes of one child somehow missing something.

These recent years have been challenging ones. But we’ve still done it We’ve kept our party alive. Now together. In all of this together.

Your work is the same. Loving the world.

In knowing that whatever shape your dancing or your baking or even some new surprise takes.

You still have the same work of loving the world.

And you get better at it every day.

So in the smells of the roast chicken that will permeate the very soul of our house on one more 15^th of October. We’ll watch the wedding video your brother made---right up there with Caddyshack as the most played video we own.

And turn up loud the piece of music that played as we walked up the aisle, down the stairs and outside into the clear blue skies of an October afternoon in Chicago.

Holding hands and ready to take on whatever came next.  Now together.

And whatever came next after that.

Again.

Singing in harmony

Seasons of love.

Remember that day?