You would not believe the people we have met through the mounting days of recovery. As I yammer away on these keys, there you are thinking of Chico, thinking of us. Forbidden bacon kicks and sputters on the griddle, Chester sleeps upstairs, Chico plays with You Tube in the living room while still in bed, and I read the latest emissary of your love and thoughts. It's a green light on the waffle iron.
These people we have met, the ones I refer to now, were not strangers before the accident. They were friends and family, they were all of you. Given the opportunity the crash has brought, you have told us things we didn't know. You have put words together in ways we didn't know you could. You've mixed ingredients to make us unfamiliar food; you've done unexpected deeds and shared your writing. You reveal yourselves to us.
The words this morning are most surprising. Sometimes I don't read them, I think they are not for me. When I do though, like today Billy, I am completely hobbled. Stopped still in my tracks around this house. You've plunked me down to ruminate. I want to rifle through Chico's basket of letters and revisit more of this. I could also scroll through my inbox, or read through the comments. The wealth of this nation, and humankind more generally, shows up in our lives.