1. Hannah (age 5): Miss Mari, push on my bruise!
Me: Uh, no, Hannah, I will not be pushing on your bruise actually.
Hannah: But it doesn't hurt my knee!
Me: No, but it hurts your soul.
Hannah: What's a soul?
Me: You'll find out when you get to college.
Colin (age 4): Miss Mari, I know what a soul is.
Me: Please tell me, Colin.
Colin: A soul is inside of your stomach. It tells you your feelings and what you feel and who you are.
2. I couldn't even finish the thought "I want a place to sit down," before I found a place to sit down.
3. A girl my age-ish came into the cafe this morning to buy a croissant and a mocha; she paid with a card and I noted that her name was Mari.
"Is your name Mari?" asked I.
"Yes," she replied.
"DUDE--SO IS MINE." I replied with grand delight.
Whenever I meet someone named Mari--spelled and pronounced the same way as mine and not short for anything--I feel all kinds of excited. I can't give you any good reason why, other than perhaps narcisism, but also because I enthuse over any kind of connection...and a name connection is particularly propitious because this stranger and I have already shared a lifetime of experiences specific to just us and our small club.
I always ask "Where did your parents get it?!" and then I always say "DID YOU KNOW THAT MARI MEANS STRAWBERRY?!" because not a lot of people know this, and I think this is just so great.
There is no way for me not to rejoice when I meet another Mari; it feels so special. And of course I always take an immediate liking to this person. And ask if she gets called "Mars Bars" a lot (she always does). And sometimes suggest she goes by The Mars Volta (one of my favorite, but underused Mari nicknames).