What it means: Having two people perform every financial function -- from counting money to writing financial statements -- to keep everyone honest.
How you can use it: Trust but verify.
I'm back in Maine today, trying to gather up the tatters of my routine. I've got some things to do this morning, so it'll be the afternoon before I'm back at work in earnest, sorting through a week's worth of work undone.
Thanks again to everybody for being so terrific this past week -- a lot of you have said, "I don't know what to say," and many have shared their own stories of loss, and all of these messages have let me know that I'm not alone, and I'm grateful.
Jen and Anna met me at the Augusta airport yesterday, and Jen even brought Dizzy in. No one objected; the Augusta airport is literally a Greyhound bus station with a runway behind it, so it's never very crowded. Dizzy seems pretty happy to be home, though he loves it at the Lechners'. (And as a cosmic reward to the Lechners for taking care of Dizzy, Steve's beloved Seahawks triumphed last night. Perhaps Mom has taken over the celestial betting pool. I wouldn't be surprised, though numbers were never her thing.)
I got home last night, put away the milk that Jen had kindly bought for me, and saw this quotation. I'd scrawled it on an index card and tacked it up on my refrigerator in the summer of 2004, after my Aunt Judi died. It's part of the Stage Manager's last speech, from Our Town.
We all know that something is eternal. And it ain't houses and it ain't names, and it ain't earth, and it ain't even the stars... Everybody knows in their bones that something is eternal, and that something has to do with human beings.
Eternal is too big a concept for my brain, but I can believe in things I don't understand.