Bountiful Court

Sometimes when I'm in the routine of yes-this-is-me-and-this-is-my-life I think about Bountiful Court.

Ta-da!

Okay so it's kind of an eyesore. But an eyesore with good memories. It's where Ben and I met.

This is the perspective from my apartment 1 to Ben's apartment, number 20. Just across the way beyond the ping-pong table. Sigh. And the door's opened, how typical.

We read The Giver and talked about marriage on this lawn.

The view down 200 East and almost being home.

Bountiful Court was chapter one to the "Choose your Own Adventure" book of my life. I could have skipped to page 10 to go on a mission. I could have flipped to page 54 to choose a history major. And I'm sure there were several roads that led to marrying this or that person.

But I got lucky. The best possible combination of choices converged. An unlikely combination. The new, nice, never-home guy in apartment 20. And me.

When I think that today is just another typical day--same ol', same ol'--I think of this. He's coming home to me? We live here in New York together? We have a beautiful healthy son? There's nothing typical about that.

I never thought when he came to borrow oven cleaner that it was really to see me. I never thought after our date to Salt Lake that Ben's words would be the most healing words. I never thought after we talked in the grass that we'd ever understand each other this well, that we'd melt into each other this much, and that our story would be this happy.