I belong to a family that holds math to be recreational. Our daughter gifted us with one of those clocks whose numbers are equations, only three of which I can solve. Benjamin factors the five digit numbers on license plates for conversation in the car and the name we collectively call ourselves is Odhnerds. 

 

While I am not the most cogent of the number spinners, I know that the average of ten averages is average.

 

The other day in a zoom marriage group, each of us checked in. Some used words like blah, and ordinary to describe their mood. The thought trails rambled, without clear direction or conclusion. One person apologized for it. 

 

But after the ricocheting feelings and untidy thoughts were spread out before us, something above average emerged. In the end of each meeting we are given a chance to express a closing thought. Having emptied the pockets of our minds onto the dresser, people spoke of gratitude for this time together. The vocabulary shifted up a notch, to genuine connection. This continues to astound me, as the faces inside the windows are geographically far apart. Clocks and seasons paint their arbitrary lines between us, pretending that we are more separate than close. 

 

But after ninety minutes those walls melted, and the mathematically impossible arrived. We all felt blessed.