"Good times!" and he turns away from the circle, clapping his hands quickly, lightly, with odd rhythm. Arg, not already John! You can't reflect on a moment that is presently occurring. You can't sum it up before it has concluded, before we are done. As in, "Those were good times". You mean right now? The times we are in? "Don't say that, it makes me feel weird." But now I get it. Last night people came over for dinner. A casual Monday night gathering with homemamde tortillas and fresh goat-milk ricotta mixed with berries. We ate, and chatted and little Bell went home early with her Dad and the adults sat at the table and picked at the fruit. John and Heather also left early and waved good-bye to those still seated. Good-bye. Good-bye. Good-bye. And even though they could have stayed and even though they love us, they had to go. They have to go. And perhaps have already left. Good times, I thought to myself. Because that moment was already a memory. They don't depart for another week but our time together has already passed.

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