We'd be on vacation every August 17th, usually camping in Maine, so anniversary dinner was steaming crabs over the campfire, or ordering lobster at a roadside stand. No candlelight, no flowers, but, oh so romantic, under the stars! Ten out of the last eleven I've toasted our marriage under the same stars. Not this year. Our campsite isn't available until August 27th. And it MUST be THAT campsite. Any new guy in my life would have to understand my little ritual. And adore camping.
I guess at this point in my years, I'm mining my memories and taking the long view. This is my story, the story of love beginning with day One. A picture is worth a thousand words, so I've drawn my memories. I hope you enjoy them.
That's me, on top of the triangles, as naked as the day I was born. The triangle below is what's inside all of us, that large pool of motivations, assumptions - The unconscious.
Day One didn't start out so well.
Birth - April Fool's day, 1953. Uh, Oh. Those eyes are Momma's
|Boo Hoo? Oops. Those eyes are still Momma's|
|Hello, someone? Momma and Poppa are scaring the crap out of me|
I had to grow up anyway...
Hello? God? You there?
This is great! ...Uh...
Have you seen my love?
Where'd you put Love?
Oh. Crap. In THERE? ...