I feel I should expand upon that kissing business. I only intend to add to this blog once a week, since I am going to make a serious effort to get the novel ready to send to editors/agents in some kind of effort to interest one of them. But since I spent so much effort today trying to remember what I've been doing with myself for the past year and a half, it seems I have not done this latest letter justice. I know I talked about the kissing before - years ago, it seems now, and indeed it is, actually, years ago. But I don't remember if I quite described it sufficiently. I don't even know if I can do so now. It was, after all, 47 years ago, and I know I have alluded to this little memory problem I have. Nevertheless...

Kissing - it was a carnival of kissing, as I recall. It seemed we never could kiss quite enough. Not long enough. Not sweet enough. And yet, kiss long and sweetly we did. Don't ask me about sex. 47 years ago, I was 16 and still virgin. It was the in-thing in those days. It wasn't to last much longer, but sweet 16 I still was. I'm certain there was some groping here and there, but when I plumb my memory for anything that even went above my knees or inside any article of clothing, it isn't there. What is there is simply long, looong, loooooooong sweet kissing. I think we talked and laughed as well - well enough, anyway, to make a three year-plus correspondence out of it, but I can't remember any of that. I remember deciding to go to a meeting (we were at a conference, after all). We never went. The lips would not allow it. Lips that simply could not leave each other along. Soft. Insistent. Sweet. No world but this sweet. Now, I've been kissed long and sweetly several times in the intervening 47 years. But, when I remember any of them, there is so much more to remember. When I remember David Knepper from Washington, D.C. (there! someone will know him - just remember it was 47 years ago!), whom I only knew in person for - was it as much as a week? Only a weekend? I do not remember that. I remember kissing.

It's been about a year and a half sinice I last posted here. There will be no one watching for it. I'll go on anyway. It's been a remarkable time. I have finished the novel, but not sold it. Been to two Oregon Country Fairs, working midnight to 6 AM at the Dragon Gate and proud of it, been elected Democratic Precinct Committee Officer of my little precinct, and just recently seen my beloved, although always somewhat disheveled and tarnished, Democrats get another crack at doing some good in the world. I've given at least two spectacular parties, cooked another tasty Thanksgiving dinner, and decorated yet another Christmas. I've attended two reunions, one of family and one of all those other old folks with whom I graduated high school. The family thrives. The others likely do as well. My old friend Jan - her husband, Clarence. A very ordinary couple at first sight. They turned into nothing spectacularly special. At first glance. Then she smiled at me, and I saw the old twinkle in her eyes. I saw her delicious smile. I saw a glance between her and her husband, and a laugh. She had found something truly special. Spectacularly special. A man who loved her. A man she loved. It was my favorite moment.

I've watched a good friend go from busted Achilles tendons to surprise pregnancy and birth, and take it with so much good hope and humor that I am humbled. I know for certain sure that if it were me, with the requisite employment-challenged boyfriend, I would - well, let's just say, or remember, that I've been in nearly as desperate straits, and got the hell out of there. I found out earlier. I was lucky.

There's no way to catch up on a year and a half, and even approach making it interesting. I'm just still here. Opening old mail. I never finished the folder I was working on before. I open another letter, and it's from David. My air force friend. The boy I met at Cornell in New York, at a Luther League Convention. The one with whom I spent the entire weekend making out in the bushes. Was remembering it again this morning. My, that boy could kiss.