Welcome to the Commune podcast. This is Jeff Krasno.

Many of you may receive my weekly Sunday commusing article where I address a breadth of issues

from the spiritual to the socio-political. And on occasion, I will also record an audio

version of these articles and release it

here as a bonus episode. So this week's missive, written and delivered by Lori Beth Robbins,

rings of Mary Oliver's poem, the summer day, in which she writes,

Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn't everything die at last and too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?

Lately, I have been in anticipated morning over my daughter's departure for college.

Skyler and I have done our jobs preparing her.

Now the world will get the best of her in every sense.

This is the last November 14th that she'll be sleeping snug in her own room, just like when she was four,

or eight, or twelve. It's late, and I'm tired, but I lug myself out of bed and trudge up the

stairs and gently whisper. Good night. Eventually in life, there will be the last time you do something. It could be quite

cotidian, like the last time you drive a car or make a cup of coffee. It could be the last time

you play a sport that you love or go see your favorite band. It could also be the last time

you talk to a friend or a parent. If you knew that it was the last time,

then you would likely take care to fashion the best cup of coffee you've ever made. The grind would be

just right. The water filtered, the tamp, the perfect pressure. You would be completely present to the process of making it.

And of course, you would savor every drop. If this is true with something as banal as coffee,

then superimpose this attention on the next call with your mom or dad or sister or brother. Notice how

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