IT’S THE QUICKNESS OF HER wit. (It’s also her verbal skills in general.) It’s the way our eyes met when we first saw each other. It’s her deep appreciation of simple pleasures. It’s her courage. It’s her refusal to quit (in truth, she doesn’t even know how to quit). It’s her love for animals. It’s her love of family. It’s the way she reinvents herself. It’s her eternal search for excellence, inspiring my search for excellence. It’s her honesty. It’s her enjoyment-on-several-levels of the dramatic, comedic, written, musical, danceable, athletic, and spiritual arts. It’s that she lets me read to her. It’s the intricate household choreography. It’s that she doesn’t put up with my bullscat (and in the interim, teaches me how not to put up with it either). It’s her kindness. It’s her voice. It’s the way she dances. It’s the way she sings. It’s her love of autumn. It’s her love of science (especially psychology and biology). It’s the eerie, almost daily synchronicities. It’s the shared secret language (why the remote control is called “Boromir,” for example). It’s the sparkle in her eyes. It’s her encyclopedic recall of obscure-and-otherwise popular entertainments. It’s her delight in making others happy. It’s the care she takes in and with everything she does. It’s her refusal to “settle.” It’s her eternal youth. It’s her hatred of small-talk. It’s her endless, boundless curiosity. It’s the don’t-need-to-complete-’em sentences. It’s her hair. It’s her curves. (It’s also her smile.) It’s her ability to sing harmonies by ear. It’s our frequency of saying the same thing, together, at the same time. It’s her editing skills. It’s her fierce loyalty. It’s the way she looks me in the eye when saying “good bye” or “I love you.” It’s her abhorrence of “Pinkness” (in her words, “militant mediocrity”). It’s the way she looks after me. And it’s the way she Gets It.