I love punctuation and grammar. I used to drop that sentence randomly at cocktail parties. I somehow thought that it would prompt a big response. I thought I was offering an appetizer as delicious as the stuffed mushrooms and the curried shrimp. I thought friends might want to chat about the politics of the Oxford comma or about crazy examples of dangling participles.

But no. My conversation hors d’oeuvres sat in the thick air just like that last shriveled mini-wiener sits in its own grease.

I have a long history of failed grammar conversations. When my daughter was a chattering 4-year-old, she was fixing my hair and talking nonstop. She said to me, “I am putting a zebba in your hair and a zebba is a word that I made up and it means braid so I am going to put a zebba in your hair.”

I said, with the thrill of what I hoped would be our lifetime journey together, “Darling, two different words that have the same meaning are called synonyms. So zebba is a synonym for braid. Do you understand?”

She chirped, “Sure, and I have a question.” My heart was a-flutter. She asked her question with great indignation, “Why don’t we ever have synonym toast at our house? Why do we only have it at Grandma’s?”

Since I am writing and not conversing with your rolling eyes, I would like to offer a tidbit of self-disclosure. My favorite punctuation mark is the colon. I wish I could have sweet chats with all of my friends in which we would all share our favorite punctuation mark. I would like to know this about the people I love. I have had some futile attempts at these kinds of conversations.

The colon is just this … : … those two dots, arranged vertically, that signal that there is something noteworthy coming in the rest of the sentence.

Lawrence A. Weinstein, in his book “Grammar for the Soul: Using Language for Personal Change,” writes, “Those two dots have much the same riveting effect as the two loud clinks on a piece of fine glassware that announce a wedding toast — or the decisive taps of a baton that call an orchestra to order just before a symphony begins.”

Mr. Weinstein goes on to suggest that we might look at the presence of colons in our own speech. If we overuse the colon, we might be hogging the floor. If we underuse, we may need to assert ourselves a bit more. Great advice, huh?

Here is why I love the colon: It is the punctuation of anticipation. Our energy is heightened when we know that something is coming. We are piqued. We are on alert. We are fully attending. We are focused.

My family has had some real-life colon experiences in the past few years. We have celebrated each of my children’s and step-children’s marriages. A wedding is a big, fat, giant colon. It is a joyous tapping of the baton. It is a way of clinking on your glass, turning to the person whom you love the most in all the world, and inviting that person to join the ride through your futures together.

Each of our spouses looked in each other’s eyes and essentially said, “Here is what is coming.” They then pledged the deepest part of themselves for an unknown future. They said that whatever lies ahead, they will do it together. And those of us who were witnessing signed on to the same.

None of our marrying spouses promised a life of perfection. They didn’t promise that there wouldn’t be fights or fires or floods. They dedicated their best presence to the other. They promised to be deeply committed to whatever is in store for them. And we, those who stood beside them, promised to be the community whom they can turn to when they need a shoulder, or a round of applause, or a different perspective, or a glass of wine and a piece of chocolate.

I guess you could observe a juicy colon, experience the heightened energy of anticipation, and then expect a tsunami, a traffic jam or a bad hair day. But not with my colons. My colons bring the expectation of all great things possible.

Believing that all things are possible broadens our perspective. It helps us to see life as full of potential. And that heightened focus helps us to recognize the gifts when they come to us: noticing the person who lets us into the long line of traffic … or seeing the pink morning sun on an especially busy morning … or adoring the way your spouse makes your morning coffee.

It seems to me that the colon brings the experience of hope. It is waiting for the next miracle. It is believing that good things are coming. It is opening our arms to the universe, clinking our glasses, tapping our batons, clearing our throats, doing a little end-zone dance, inserting a giant colon and saying: Whatever life brings, I am listening. Together we will look for the miracles. And together we will make a calmer, sweeter world.