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If there is any single thing in my home that reflects life with Spoke and at the same time captures my life continuing, now with her, it might be these Chianti bottles.

If imitation is a true form of flattery, then attention goes to the very small trattoria in Florence where I swooned over such a display of the local wine bottles hanging in a corner. The restaurant as I remember, is tucked into a quiet space open only to foot traffic, with an American Express office just a door or two away. Nostalgic as they are, few of these bottles held drinkable wine but I found an exception with the Sangiovese from Castellina in Chianti. I lugged three home and they hang in this collection, on this wall.

If anyone had told me that tragic Thanksgiving, that in a couple of years I'd be in love, I'd have told them they were drunk, and if they added that my love would be for a girl, I'd have said they were plastered. And likely also stoned.

Never in a million years, we whisper to each other. 

If there had been no gatherings at Jimmy's Food Store, we might not be together.

If I hadn't had a premonition, we might not be together.

If she hadn't answered a text, we would not be together.

If she wasn't a veteran, things might not be the same.

If I didn't have trust in myself, a strong belief that I am always led, then we would not be together. 

Never in a million years...

If the Chianti bottles remained as they have for many years, unlit, they would continue to be a sweet memory of the past, but as she filled those bottles with gleaming light, I felt myself filling up with such cliches of emotion: love, gratitude, trust, wanting.

Never in a million years...

Never in a million years...

Never in a million years...