It was a Saturday evening in early October of 2003 when the the title was coined. My mother was recovering from a surgery that left her with nearly two feet of stitches along her front. Miles and I made the decision that my place was with her during that time. He gets my vote for friend, husband, and man of the year, every year, for his understanding and compassion.

I am mesmerized by the order and timing of life.

In early July of 2003, Mom mentioned in passing that she felt a bump on her tailbone. It wasn't a big deal to any of us, as she had discovered many harmless cysts over the years. My family flew here for our wedding in mid-July. Upon her return, she commenced the barrage of routine tests that come with finding a bump. To be honest, I had all but forgotten it existed. My mother is my rock; I was quite simply unable to fathom anything being seriously wrong.

I still remember the pitch of her voice as she told me they were ordering more tests. I still remember the chills running along my limbs. What followed was a period of uncertainty. My mind was very firmly set that this was not Cancer. I did not know of any member of my family having ever had the disease. I stubbornly believed this until the very last moment when another phone call contradicted my reasoning. It's strange to look back on a period less than two years ago and be able to say the words that I have heard my grandparents say so often in recollection of simpler times. "It was a different world then."

Following her surgery, Mom's recovery was difficult. Her strength reached through and carried her, but I've never been closer to my mother than I was in the days when our roles were reversed from my infancy...when I was the nurturer. Often, I wonder if I ever truly understood love until then. The experience changed me, and made me a better person.

Besides the physical weakness and pain, she had to come to grips the the enormity of what happened to her in the operating room, and with the months and years to come. That Saturday was a bad day. She wept constantly, and we were disarmed. Finally, my dear Aunt Debbie thought of something happy to say. "Your favorite casserole! I'm making Tuna Noodle Casserole tomorrow night!"

Mom, sitting beside me and holding my hand, sniffed into a tissue and erupted in giggles. "Tuna Nooda!" was how it came out, and the air thinned as we all enjoyed a good belly laugh after such a doleful day. We've known it as such ever since. It's silly and stupid, and it summons such a dear memory to me.

I still catch myself calling it "tuna nooda". Miles, knowing the story, encourages me not to stop.

Today is our very dear Jason's birthday, and we couldn't know a nicer, more decent person than he. Twenty-three years ago today, the world became a little better place.

He came over today to pick up his digital camera, which I have been borrowing as of late. Ours died and went to hang by the big neck strap in the sky. His camera has filled the void during my bereavement. Together, we partook of strawberry turnovers and [perfect, cookie scoop domes of] cool whip. Yum.

I wanted to make him a cake, but Miles wasn't certain that Jason liked cake. I wasn't either, even though I once shared an office with the dear boy...I should have known. Naturally, I knew of his preference toward Peanut M&Ms, Cheetos, and Steak...but this hardly solved the cake quandary. Miles, being the highly rational sort, declared, "If you make a cake and Jason doesn't want it, we'll be stuck with a whole cake to eat!" I gazed at him in my impatient, I'm failing to see the downside way. He went on, "BUT, strawberry turnovers...I've got no problem eating those."

Miles is the voice of reason, after all.

I have always enjoyed my long talks with Jason. He's a good breeze-shooting partner. And, he can totally follow me as I scoot from Kohl's, to Iraq, to Caramel Macchiatos. He even followed the lineup with Atkins, exercising, and then weblogs. His breeze-shooting would've impressed the likes of Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday, no joke.

A very happy birthday anniversary to you today, Jason! You will always be our wee one, and our source for many wonderful and memorable moments. We hope that 23 treats you well!

My mother-in-law told me a long while back that when Miles was young, he would sing "You are my Sunshine" with the words, "You make me happy, when skies are grape!" He knows I know. I know he knows I know, and he knows I know he knows I know. Follow? No? Can't say as though I blame you.

Anyway, Friday evening, we were on a voyage to Kohl's for the purchasing of shoes. I've been busting his butt on my walking path and his feet were not pleased. We frittered time away poking through the store, me idling over the placemats and napkins, him over the glass bakeware. Yeah, we've become domesticated...what of it?

When we finally wandered over to the appropriate section of the store, he found a pair of shoes immediately and we took our leave. Well, we paid first, naturally. Friday was a wet and rainy setting. Completely yucky in every way. We were at a red light when Miles turned to me and said, "Did you know that you make me happy even when skies are grape?"

And, I was totally whipped the rest of the night.