a good day

 One day a week I attend a Twelve-Step program for people whose lives have been affected by the alcoholism of a friend or loved one.  From there I make my way down two blocks to a good old-fashioned diner where the talk invariably turns to cards and ponies and gambling.  In both places I mostly listen, laughing occasionally, smiling often.  At night, when my husband asks if I had a good day, I always smile and say, "As a matter of fact I did."  And I did.