Just as Tink started up the stairs, stepping slowly and carefully as he balanced a bowl and a cup of coffee to keep them from sloshing, I appeared around the corner. I paused, watched, and debated silently as to whether to speak.
“It’s not important,” the internal dialogue began.
“But it is,” another voice insisted. “You know what that bowl means. It’s a treasure. He has no idea and he would want to know.”
One of the loveliest things about my husband is that he deeply cares about the people who have gone before in my life and how those people shaped who I am and how I think. Read More»