Lately I've been working my way through three huge bins that were in my storage space. Partially I was hoping that I'd somehow find my missing Passport (I need to just give it up, admit defeat, and order a replacement) but also to try and sort out my own beleaguered history. It's been a slow process, partially because there are so many of them but also because a lot of them bring back painful memories. That said, some of them have brought tremendous joy, including the one below. It was snapped at Brenda and my wedding reception, and featured the irrepressible Jack Schultz, clearly burning down the house.
It's funny to think that we've been friends for fifty years, and yet neither of us have ever gotten within walking distance of maturity.
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