As time goes by, human beings dwell more and more on the significance of the thoughts that seem to accompany them at each specific stage of their life.

In the stages of my live I’ve dwelled on, wondered and worried about — and analyzed, and over-analyzed —  my obsessions with school, career, sex, love, boyfriends, husbands, the size of a burger, the color of the sky, the sexual life of bugs, being too nice or too bitchy, whether to buy a house or a bike, the direction of the stock market, the fate of the planet, the plight of a far away nation, whether I should eat a salad or a steak, or enjoy some booze or coffee.

Lately, I have been thinking about getting old and dying. And, when you’ve been thinking about a particular issue, you become more observant about how that theme plays out through the life surrounding you at that particular moment. I was having brunch with my husband at this nice bistro by the water on a bright, crisp Sunday morning when THEY arrived. They were a lovely old couple, supporting each other through each frail step. They sat at the table across from us. They possessed that singular trait of two people who know and love each other and will do so forever. They smiled and laughed through the entire brunch, well-pleased with their fresh croissants and warm coffee. And they talked and they listened to each other. Not once did they look bored or at a loss for a topic to converse about. There they were… the antithesis to the surrounding customers who seemed to have become terminally joined to their e-gadgets and oblivious to the crisp morning and to each other.

I wished they could be the reflection of my husband and I down the road… after we are done bugging each other and arguing about who does the laundry or the dishes or how much we should tip the server.