Wednesday, October 20, 2004

Twenty-three years. One page. 

Have you ever tried to write, in one page, the story of your relationship with the most important person in your life? That's what I had to (try to) do for my memoir writing class. The assignment for last night was this: write a one-page brief on the subject of the memoir writing that you plan to do for this quarter. This is what I gave my instructors, and the other 21 students in the class. It did fit on one page; never mind that I had to reduce the margins to .9" and the font to 11pt Garamond, which is a fairly "short" font. If you have been reading here for a while, you will already know at least some parts of this story. If you're new here, take a deep breath.


This will be the story of my 23-year relationship with my husband Paul. I met Paul at a college party. It was Valentine’s Day, 1981. It was Providence (Rhode Island). He was dancing with another woman. A week later, we were in love. Maybe I could tell you why I fell; one page would not be enough. Bullet points, in the order observed: lanky long-distance-cyclist’s body; gorgeous blue eyes; well-worn Stetson hat and cowboy boots; dry Yankee wit; flair for storytelling; massive intellect; gentle heart. In sum: just what I wanted.

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