On and off this month, I’ll share some of my collection of G and M pictures. Since I live with a camera in my hand most of the time, I have lots of us pictures.
We met in 1983, and I confess that I am 12 years older than he. G was sober, and I was certainly not. Twelve years later, after my stepfather died and I no longer qualified for free medical care, we married. Sometimes the most sideways of reasons for something still work even after 32 years.
Top: There we were in the tiny OB cottage. Grandma’s bookcase is crowded two deep in science fiction, my cat-scratched journals, and mysteries, and George is sitting in Gimpa’s Morris chair. Middle: 1986: Wedding day at the big house after everyone was gone. Our shoes are off. Bottom: 1986: Vegas: We had a new truck, so we drove to Vegas for our honeymoon. I'd never been. G won enough to pay for the honeymoon. It snowed, by the way, and we ended up sharing a small cab with all our luggage. As soon as we got home, we bought a lid for the bed of the truck.
Life has never been the same.