B (4:54)

Growing up in Michigan, clean water has never been something that I take for granted. If you know anything about my hometown.

A (5:03)

Flint, you know why.

B (5:06)

So when I learned that three out of four US Homes have toxic chemicals in their tap water, I wasn't shocked. But I also wasn't interested in pretending that a basic pitcher filter was going to solve it. That's why I use Aqua Tru. It's a countertop purifier that removes 84 chlorine, lead forever, chemicals, microplastics, all the stuff you don't want in your body or your tea or your dog's bowl. And it does it with reverse osmosis that's actually tested and certified, not just claimed on the box. No plumbing, no installation. Just fill it, push a button and you've got water that tastes the way water should taste. My friends try it once and immediately start calculating where it's going to sit on their counter. So here's your offer. Go to aquatru.com now for 20% off your purifier using promo code. Nothing much. Aquatru even comes with a 30 day best tasting water guarantee. That's aquatru.com a q u-a t r u.com promo code n o t h I n g mu c h.

A (6:29)

Okay campers, snuggle down. Day is done. Gone the sun from the lake, from the hills, from the sky. All is well. Safely rest. Draw a deep breath in through your nose and sigh it out. Nice. One more. Breathe in. Let it go. Good. After dinner, a quiet stupor lay over us like a thick fog. The fire had burned down to embers and in a minute or so I would get up and lay in a few more logs, but not right now. Right now I needed to lean back in my chair and digest. Marmalade lay in my lap.

B (7:53)

And I.

A (7:53)

Lazily stroked her back as she surveyed the room. The sun had just set and there was still a purple gleam in the air Outside. The lights were low. The candles on the table burned down to stops. I watched as one, its wax finally overfull at the flame, broke the dam and dribbled down to drip onto the tablecloth. My cousin touched his elbow to mine and pointed his chin at the spilling wax that would have sent Grandma into a conniption. Can you imagine? I chuckled with him and said, she would have had a meltdown. I waggled my eyebrows at him, proud of my pun. He shook his head and I knew he remembered as well as I did the tension of preserving Grandma's good linens and best plates at the big family gatherings of our childhood. I sighed and said that I thought a few stains on the tablecloth were a sign of a meal so well enjoyed that it left the diners too contented to fuss. He lifted his glass and said, look at us. Breaking generational curses. I touched my glass to his and we drank to poor Grandma and her best intentions. The room still smelled of all the good things we'd eaten, the savory mushroom gravy, the scents of thyme and sage and roasted sweet potatoes, the yeasty dinner rolls and the vinegary snap of the pickle and olive tray. I'd made a few family favorites that, frankly, only me and my cousin craved at Thanksgiving dinner and then only because we'd grown up with them year after year. There was the pea and peanut salad with tangy dressing and finely diced onions and cranberry chutney with pecans and celery. I heard a record being flipped in the living room. Soft dinner music drifted from the speakers, and then came the thundering sound of paws racing down the hall. Our house guests had arrived the afternoon before, pulling up into the driveway with two moderately sized weekender bags for the grownups, a full roller bag of dog sweaters and treats and toys to share, and their wriggly panting pug. Just like me, Crumb was having fun with his cousin. The pug was a girl a couple years younger than Crumb, with silky black fur and a curly tail. Her name was Tablespoon. The cousins came racing into the dining room, nipping and chasing through the chair legs. Marmalade's eyebrows went up as she watched the rowdy pair and the affronted look on her face made me think she'd have gotten along very well with Grandma. Plates were being cleared away and I could hear the water running in the kitchen sink. Besides ourselves and our house guests, we we'd also had a few friends at our table today. From her pretty old farmhouse on the outskirts of town, where she grew enough lilacs for the whole county, came a friend of mine I'd known since grade school. She'd brought a centerpiece made of pine boughs and fresh bay with small red berries threaded through the needles. As she walked around the table laying out fresh forks for dessert, tablespoon crashed into her ankles and she gripped the back of my chair to keep from tumbling over. Remind me, she said to my cousin, how did tablespoon get her name? Was battering ram taken? We all chuckled and my cousin reached down to scoop the pug into his lap. She's got a friend at home, a guinea pig that predated her. He was so small when we brought him home. We called him Teaspoon. He patted the dog's pink belly and she wriggled closer in his arms and she just fell in love with him. They napped together, ate dinner at each other's sides, so after a few days we knew we had to name her to match. From the kitchen came the voice of another friend, this one who'd been the best man at our wedding. How many coffees? Hands went up and his plus one, a woman he'd met at the florist's across the alley from his bicycle shop, counted them and went to relay the number. I usually stayed away from caffeine at this time of the evening, but figured it would probably balance out the sleepiness from my full stomach and most likely keep me awake just long enough to put away the leftovers. Marmalade jumped down from my lap and strolled languidly into the living room, probably looking for the restful company of our greyhound, Birdie. My eyes fell on the dying fire again, and I decided this was the perfect moment for a bit of fresh air and a chance to stretch my legs. As I pushed away from the table and strolled to the back door to step into my rubber boots, I heard a rumble of laughter from the kitchen. What is it about hearing well known voices talking in the next room that so soothes your heart? Is it a memory of dozing on the sofa as a child while the grown ups talked around the table? Or maybe just the reminder that life goes on even when you aren't there to witness it? The continuity that our loved ones still laugh and chat and stir sugar into their coffee while we busy ourselves somewhere nearby. I remembered reading once that for most of human history we fell asleep with the sound of others around us. Voices, a crackling fire, a stirring pot. Silence is a modern phenomenon. Outside, the air crackled with cold and I breathed it in, letting it sting my nostrils. My face felt warm and rosy, and my boots left tracks in the frost. At the wood pile, I reached for a few solid logs and shuffled them into my arms. Before I went back to the house, I stepped out from under the eave of the shed and looked up at the stars. The sky was wide open, and as I gazed at the star studded firmament, I was struck by by a deep feeling of being right where I was meant to be. I stayed for a moment more, then turned toward the warmth of our home. After dinner, A quiet stupor lay over us like a thick fog. The fire had burned down to embers, and in a minute or so I would get up and lay in a few more logs. But not right now. Right now I needed to lean back in my chair and digest. Marmalade lay in my lap.

B (19:50)

And I.

A (19:50)

Lazily stroked her back as she surveyed the room. The sun had just set and there was still a purple gleam in the air. Outside. The lights were low. The candles on the table burned down to steps. I watched as one, its wax finally over full at the flame, broke through the dam and dribbled down to drip onto the tablecloth. My cousin touched his elbow to mine and pointed his chin at the spilling wax that would have sent Grandma into a conniption. Can you imagine? I chuckled with him and said, she would have had a meltdown. I waggled my eyebrows at him, proud of my pun. He shook his head and I knew he remembered as well as I did the tension of preserving Grandma's good linens and best plates at the big family gatherings of our childhood. I sighed and said that I thought a few stains on a tablecloth were a sign of a meal so well enjoyed that it left the diners too contented to fuss. He lifted his glass and said, look at us. Breaking generational curses. I touched my glass to his and we drank to poor Grandma and her best intentions. The room still smelled of all the good things we'd eaten the savory mushroom gravy, the sense of thyme and sage and roasted sweet potatoes, the yeasty dinner rolls and the vinegary snap of the pickle. An olive tray I'd made, a few family favorites that frankly, only me and my cousin craved at Thanksgiving dinner, and then only because we'd grown up with them year after year. There was pea and peanut salad with tangy dressing and finely diced onions and cranberry chutney with pecans and celery. I heard a record being flipped in the living room. Soft dinner music drifted from the speakers, and then came the thundering sound of paws racing down the hall. Our house guests had arrived the afternoon before, pulling up into the driveway with two moderately sized weekender bags for the grown ups, a full roller bag of dog sweaters and treats and toys to share, and their wriggly panting pug. Just like me. Crumb was having fun with his cousin. The pug was a girl, a couple years younger than Crumb, with silky black fur and a curly tail. Her name was Tablespoon. The cousins came racing into the dining room, nipping and chasing through the chair legs. Marmalade's eyebrows went up as she watched the rowdy pair, and the affronted look on her face made me think she would have gotten along very well with Grandma. Plates were being cleared away and I could hear the water running the kitchen sink. Besides ourselves and our house guests, we'd also had a few friends at our table today. From her pretty old farmhouse on the outskirts of town, where she grew enough lilacs for the whole county, had come a friend of mine that I'd known since grade school. She'd brought a centerpiece made of pine boughs and fresh bay with small red berries threaded through the needles. As she walked around the table laying out fresh forks for dessert, Tablespoon crashed into her ankles and she gripped the back of my chair to keep from tumbling over. Remind me, she said to my cousin, how did Tablespoon get her name? Was battering Ram taken? We all chuckled, and my cousin reached down to scoop the pug into his lap. Well, she's got a friend at home, a guinea pig that predated her. He was so small when we brought him home. We'd called him Teaspoon. He patted the dog's pink belly and she wriggled closer in his arms. She just fell in love with him. They napped together, ate dinner at each.

B (28:19)

Other'S sides.

A (28:22)

So after a few days we knew we needed to name her to match. From the kitchen came the voice of another friend, this one who'd been the best man at our wedding. How many coffees? Hands went up and his plus one, a woman he'd met at the florist's across the alley from his bicycle shop counted them and went to relay the number. I usually stayed away from caffeine at this time of the evening, but figured it would balance out the sleepiness from my full stomach and most likely keep me awake only long enough to put away the leftovers. Marmalade jumped down from my lap and strolled languidly into the living room, probably looking for the restful company of our greyhound, Birdie. My eyes fell again on the dying fire and I decided this was the perfect moment for a bit of fresh air and a chance to stretch my legs. As I pushed away from the table and strolled to the back door to step into my rubber boots, I heard a rumble of laughter from the kitchen. What is it about hearing well known voices talking in the next room that so soothes your. Is it a memory of dozing on the sofa as a child while the grown ups talked around the table? Or maybe just the reminder that life goes on even when you aren't there to witness it? The continuity that our loved ones still laugh and chat and stir sugar into their coffee while we busy ourselves elsewhere? I remembered reading once that for most of human history we fell asleep with the sound of others around us. Voices, a crackling fire, a stirring pot. Silence is a modern phenomenon. Outside, the air crackled with cold and I breathed it in, letting it sting my nostrils. My face felt warm and rosy and my boots left tracks in the frost. At the wood pile, I reached for a few solid logs and shuffled them into my arms before I went back to the house. I stepped out from under the eave of the shed and looked up at the stars. The sky was wide open, and as I gazed at the star studded firmament, I was struck by a deep feeling of being right where I was meant to be. I stayed for a moment more, then turned toward the warmth of our home. Sweet dreams.