Tony has really been kicking ass with the packing. He has no idea how much I appreciate his drive. This week, each night after work is devoted to packing/purging. We've got a lot to do, but he has been successful in getting a lot of the "grunt" stuff done ... so kudos to him, my hero. We'll need more boxes ... and I'll need some serious nicotine to get through it. But we'll manage. We're good that way.

We schlepped some art over and Tony hung it with care and aplomb. He's got a much better eye for that sort of thing than I do ... and even though he was ready to pound his fists into the near impenetrable walls, I think he likes to do that sort of thing, too. The front entrance room will be adorned with more "pop" and "fun" art ... his Roy Lichtenstein print, my Jimenez Donna Troy poster, the original comic art pages I own, etc. It already looks great. The other super-hero prints will adorn the hallway up the stairs and down toward the bedrooms. A good, solid plan. It's going to look fantastic. So much more "us."

We were riding with David to get some grub, and he (David) was listening to a folk music compilation of his own creation. As he sang along to each tune, I was overwhelmed by a memory I hadn't thought of in quite some time...

When I was about 12, my mother and I vacationed in Utah with my brother Johnny and his wife Kathy. Johnny, an avid fisherman and lover of the outdoors, rented a large camper/van and planned to take all of us to Montana for a week of camping, fishing, and camaraderie. I wasn't thrilled about the idea, but I was 12 -- what could I do? Anyway ... Johnny's Air Force buddy Al Domini and his family were accompanying us. I was assigned to drive the distance with Mrs. Domini and her 11 year-old daughter Heidi. I remember my sister-in-law going on and on about how cute Heidi was and how much fun she and I would have. It was an obvious attempt at preteen matchmaking. I was surprised to discover that Heidi actually was cute and sweet ... and we did hit it off in a very friendly way. No surprise, really, because most of my good friends had always been girls. I very vividly remember Mrs. Domini turning up the radio and singing along, in loud voice, to "Leavin' on a Jet Plane" by Peter, Paul, and Mary. She commented that it was one of her favorite songs, and said to no one in particular "It's part of the soundtrack of my generation." I was mesmerized by her voice and even more intrigued by her comment. Would I have a "soundtrack of my life" when I got older? What songs would be on it?

The Montana sky was just amazing. I was in awe. At night, the sky seemed to have hundreds more stars in it than what I was used to back in Indiana ... and I spent a lot of time just gazing, losing myself in the splendor. Mr. Domini showed up on day two with a surprise -- his 14 year-old son Seth. No one had mentioned another boy would be sharing the adventure, and I was, of course, both instantly smitten and terrified. Heidi who?!? Seth was "all boy" -- he brought a Nerf football with him, for God's sake. It took him a day or two to warm up to me, and I'm sure it only happened because he was bored and had a passing interest in the Justice League of America comic I was reading.

He plopped down next to me outside the camper and grabbed the comic from my hands, his curly hair backlit by the bright sun. "Does this have Aquaman in it?" he asked. I mumbled something about Aquaman being a founding member of the JLA and tried not to stare at Seth's face. And it was that simple -- we were "buds" from that point on. We played catch with the stupid football (yes, I was that much of a skeez), took off our shoes and waded in the amazingly cold creek, picked on poor Heidi, ate entirely too many hot dogs for one sitting, and because we were both wrestlers, practiced "moves" a lot. That, of course, was my favorite part.

I could tell by his level of excitement during the wrestling tumbles that Seth was enjoying himself. I'd tackle him from behind and we'd roll around under the trees, laughing. He'd grab me around the middle and try to toss me, forgetting my weight advantage and never quite succeeding. He was a strange combination of wiry and thick that I found intoxicating. Nothing explicit happened that summer, but Seth and I kept in touch. His letters told stories of girls, his parents, and wrestling, and always ended with talk of that week in Montana. When I told him I'd be back for another week the next summer, his letters doubled in frequency, and we graduated to having pages-long "conversations" about which superhero would be able to best whom in a wrestling match. Dammit -- was it summer YET?? When we did go back to Utah the following July, Seth and I picked up right where we left off. That story, however, is best saved for another time ... and it's a good one ...