Saturday evening, late summer. The sun is just beginning to set behind the oaks and pines at the edge of our property. I’m sitting on our back patio enjoying the sunset. The birds are twittering all around – mockingbirds, bluebirds, doves, cardinals, painfully bright yellow finches, hummingbirds zooming and chattering between us. Unlike all the other cookie-cutter houses in the neighborhood, we’ve tried to fit flowering trees into every empty square foot we can so that a little paradise appears once you cross the property line. Bumblebees are busy buzzing about the jasmine vines that climb the pergola I built many years ago to dress our patio and break up the hot afternoon sun.
The pronunciation was always a point of contention among my roommates, but it really only mattered in terms of how we were going to tell the story later.
In Dave’s room was a chair, rolled and tucked away in the nook of his desk. The box it came in said “Steno Chair.” An honest to goodness office chair in a college apartment. There was no way this chair would see graduation. We weren’t sure any of us would either, but as my favorite Subaru commercial says with wondered amazement, “They lived.”