Tomorrow

A year ago, on this day and at this hour, I contemplated going to bed.  My lovely, and very expecting, wife and I had just returned from a holiday performance at Davies Symphony Hall.  I wandered around our small home, peering at a well cooked in kitchen, filled with dirty dishes, a well lived in living room, filled with unopened boxes and a well rested in bedroom, filled with dirty clothes, papers and unfamiliar baby things.  I thought to myself: "Tomorrow is another day.  I'll clean up then. We have to start getting ready for this baby. He's only two and a half weeks away."  When my head hit the pillow I was not aware that my understanding of time, love, sleep and work were about to become vague relics.

Three hours later, I woke to the sight of my lovely wife, standing in the middle of the bedroom, stone-faced and shaky, with a towel between her legs and some comments to share with me.  Thirty hours after that I finally fell asleep again in the make-shift sleeper of a post-natal recovery room, my hand draped over the plastic bassinet that housed my swaddled and sleeping 4-hour old son and my droopy eyes fixed on my brave and tenacious wife asleep in the bed beside us.

Be it a new child, a late night phone call, an unexpected package, a tragic loss or a serendipitous bump into your future love on that morning walk to coffee, know this: your eyes could open to an unimaginably new paradigm tomorrow.  

So, depending on the context in which you find yourself,  love 'em, cook 'em, drink 'em, smoke 'em, hug 'em, kiss 'em and fuck 'em if you got 'em because tomorrow is most assuredly another day.