It's 11 a.m. and I'm in a doctor's office, listening on my iPod to M.I.A.'s "Paper Planes" (which just shuffled to Talking Head's "Once in a Lifetime"---but never mind). My wife Cat is back where the Medical Stuff happens, getting a biopsy.
They'll snip a piece out of her, examine it, think about it.
Cancer, maybe! What the [appropriately bad word] is that about?
Yesterday was the one-year anniversary of the day Cat and I signed the papers making us Official Owners of the first house we ever bought. It's a three-story townhouse. There's a walking path near it. Last night, while I waited on the same spot on that path that we both used to stand while basically stalking the house we so desperately wanted and eventually purchased, she left me to go inside the house. She turned on virtually every light in the place. Then she went up to the third story, the entirety of which is our bedroom, and came to one of the windows. Facing toward where she knew I was out in the dark looking up at her, she smiled her huge smile, and waved.
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