It’s June 11, 2012 and Cait brings me some melted-strawberry Gunther’s ice cream. Man, this stuff tastes good on a hot night. Sitting on the Red Corduroy Couch, ABBA playing on the record player in the bedroom, we decide to have a spontaneous pajama party. A crazy idea if you think of it; it's a Monday night, a work night for both of us. Thinking of it, I take a deep breath, maybe be the first focused, intentional breath of the day. Sigh. The guitar makes that certain sound, the sound of a cat – meyowwww – in the Mamma Mia! song, taking me instantly back to road trips in Annie's car, the Golden Princess, when we played this album incessantly. She liked ABBA for the cat’s meow, I liked it because there’s nothing like an ABBA album to get a girl up and dancing. I am, always have been, always will be, a dancing queen. Cait turns the page, we write side by side, silently both together and alone. The air conditioner kicks in. I’m tired, it’s hot, and I notice the sou...