John and I got tickets to see the Cubs play the Brewers practically when we first started seeing each other. I had never been to Miller Park before and an easy road trip ninety miles up Lake Michigan seemed like a great idea. By happenstance, or maybe by divine plan, our day-trip kept growing. Our tickets were for Sunday’s game, but we planned to get to Beer Town on Saturday, to visit the art museum in the shadows of Calatrava’s Quadracci Pavilion and stay overnight. I somehow felt bold enough to ask him to take off a day from work so we could leave Friday and visit my friend Chris who has been in a nursing home in Sturgeon Bay, at the base of beautiful but tourist teeming Door County, since last winter.

Chris was my boss at a data comm company I worked for lifetimes ago, or so it seemed (in reality, around 20 years). I was a not-so-perky young woman in a navy suit determined to make something happen in a mostly male industry. We immediately struck a bond and, while we have actually spent so few of the intervening months, or days even, living anywhere close to each other geographically, the connection has not faded. It seemed that he beat a cancer diagnosis several years ago, but it had already started spreading to his bones. Last August, when he was struggling with the idea of abandoning chemo treatments and other “healing” regimens that made him feel worse, I drove to Green Bay to see him at his sister’s where he was staying. We had a short visit. He was too sick to do much more than sleep.

Many times, this past year, I wondered how long I would get to have him in my life. Last winter, he moved from his sister’s to the nursing home in Sturgeon Bay. He decided to go on hospice. He went through periods of despondency and numerous health complications. Then he decided he wanted to write a memoir recounting some of his life experiences so that he could give his children and grandchildren an understanding of him that they couldn’t get anywhere else. I volunteered to transcribe his recordings and edit his notes. The memoir has continued to grow since last March. Then he got an IPad and, by his own admission, it changed his life. He uses it to read articles of every theme and stripe, from tech news to political rants. He has picture phone conversations with his two young grandsons in Indiana and with a best bud in Toronto. And, after a modest credit card spree at the ITunes Store, he has equipped himself with an array of applications that allow him to do photography to the full extent of his creativity.

When John and I got to his room at the Dorchester, I handed him a cup of Vanilla Latte from Mickie D’s, an easy to get and well-appreciated gift. We asked after each other’s plans and talked a little baseball. As Chris’s beloved Brewers are the hot team these days, I had to listen to a few “I told you so’s” about Ryan Braun who is having a banner year. Then Chris started showing off his latest IPad/IPhone photography projects.

I think he got into photography in his teens. I know he did photography while in the Air Force, including some professional work. But his curiosity and sense of play when it comes to trying different things, his patience for researching then learning what the different apps will do, and, ultimately, his artistic sensibilities – he knows how to frame an image and how to highlight objects or colors within that image – it’s obvious how much pleasure he gets from his new toys. Using the Internet, his IPad, his IPhone camera and special apps, he can scan the world for scenes or ideas and then make art out of them.

We were having a nice visit; all the more precious to us because it is so hard to predict when they will occur. There is no way to know a week in advance or even a day in advance when Chris might have a good day, a good health and energy day. Realizing it was close to five, he asked if John and I had plans for dinner.

“Well,” I confessed. “I was hoping to get to a real Wisconsin fish fry.”

“If you want to get on your way, I understand,” he said, “But if you would like, we could go to The Nightingale or The Mill. The Mill is supposed to have great pan-fried wall-eye. My treat.”

I couldn’t believe Chris was so spry this late in the day. We packed up his wheel chair in John’s Toyota. (This necessitated bringing his golf clubs into Chris’s room to make space in the trunk, which sparked many quizzical faces among the Dorchester staff. Chris golfing? No, couldn’t be.)

The Mill is a quintessential Wisconsin supper club with fishing lodge style wood paneling, strings of white Christmas lights over the bay windows, and a big vat of soft cheese and bowl of crackers near the hostess station. Self-serve. As soon as we were directed to our table, Chris wheeled his chair to the cheese and crackers table. I followed close behind in case he needed any help, surprised to hear his next remark.

“Deb, if you want any cheese and crackers, you’re going to have to get your own plate.”

We all ordered cocktails. Chris ordered a Brandy Manhattan, perhaps a popular libation in Central Wisconsin, not so common on Lincoln and Irving, in my ‘hood. We continued to talk about our families, our accomplishments, life changes – cole slaw. The fish was great; sweet and tender with a perfectly crisp, not over-salted coating. When the waitress came by to check on possible dessert requests, we ordered a second round of cocktails. I couldn’t believe it, Chris having a second brandy. He must really be feeling good, I thought.

And then I started to reflect on what it means to have a good day.

When your car gets dinged in a parking lot, or when you get an unexpected bill you can’t pay, or when you find yourself in a pissing contest with someone you love over something inconsequential or silly – those things can define a bad day. What constitutes a good day seems more complex, although you know it when you’re having one.

While some might say that any day you’re breathing is a good day, I think there’s more to it, although I am not sure how to sum it up. For Chris, good days are partially determined by energy and pain levels, but also by creative juice and how much he feels like himself, how stoked he might be to express who he is creatively. I have never talked to John about this specifically, but I know he lights up on days when he strokes the golf ball well. For me, good days have a lot to do with feeling understood, being in good company, being with my tribe, about feeling known and cherished.

Recognizing and relishing when you are having a good day is no small thing.