A cloudy December First. We had an appointment up in the hills. Parents were there, and a few friends. I made a big Russian macaroni casserole–Garrison Keillor would call it a hot dish–and I arrived a little late. As the first rain slanted in, streaked the windows, obscured the bay and the town below, you looked into the gray light: calm, absorbed, reflective, maybe visiting scenes of years to come. I saw then, still see looking back into that room from so far away, love, just love.