Abigail had her 36th birthday for the umpteenth time. I have always been acutely aware of the “stages” of life. Abigail rejects that idea. And it works for her. She retains the freshness of the young girl who wanted to grow up to be a deer, who as a young lady went off to Paris to fall in love, who lived from childhood on among the period rooms of the Met, who still loves hillbilly music and sings great duets with Johnny Cash. As I move from year to year through the “stages,” it is sublime and a frolic to have this springtime virgin beside me.
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