Sometimes I daydream.  Some daydreams sprinkle twinkles on my day.  They put smile wrinkles round my eyes.  I can settle into a dream, in the middle of the day, about my Bill—‘s— quirks.  And smile the whole while.

Bill would impersonate Bruce Bochy’s coaching voice, Phil Mickelson’s tip-of-the-cap, and my dad’s walk to church.  A pretend Bible tucked under his arm.

Bill talked to geese.  Who talked back to him.   They had conversations — in public.

Bill played the trumpet.  Without a trumpet.   He puckered his lips and played taps and took requests.

He needed at least 3 bathrobes in the closet, though he never wore one.  He also needed a half dozen pairs of slippers, all over the house, which he wore out.

He struggled with menus.  Should he order the deluxe cheese burger or the chicken marsala?  After the difficult decision, he stared down every plate, as it passed to its table, and left with a severe case of menu remorse.

Bill loved music and sang with Stevie Nicks, Boz Skaggs, and church worshippers.  But no one really knew which voice was Bill’s.  I think Bill didn’t really know.  Did Bill have his own singing voice?

Bill had to place the last puzzle piece,  swipe the curly top of the ice cream cone, touch the outside of the plane before boarding.

I’m so happy to have these dreams to dream.  So thankful for this man, his quirks and the long while smiles when I daydream.

You were fun, and quirky, and fun.  I miss you, Babe.