Bruce and I were married in the Unitarian Church on the U of Chicago campus in the last quarter of my 2nd year of college. Very low-key. The picture above was taken when I was the maid-of-honor for my college roommate, Ronnie Feldman. She met her husband, Fred Feldman, when they were waiting in line during orientation week. I've always enjoyed calling her Ronnie Feldman Feldman.

Our first and only car together was a British racing green MGB. Unfortunately, neither of us could drive standard transmission when we bought it. Driving it out of the showroom was a challenge and a half! I found hills to stall out on in Chicago that no one else even knew existed. Bruce wanted to race the B, so learned to double-d-clutch around corners and such through books. My stomach spent a great deal of time in my shoes. The wheelbase of the car was narrower than most other cars and, during the winter, we'd have to drive tilted with one wheel in a rut and one on the hill between the ruts. And then there was the problem getting it to start in the Chicago cold. Bruce had a solution - he slide a barbecue under the car and cooked it. I should be grateful I'm still here to tell the story.

Bruce is one of the good men in this world. I truly feel privileged to have been married to him.

It took five years, but it was worth it. A major in art history and a minor in physics from U of Chicago. I loved that school. Mother was born just across the Midway. She went to school there, and met my father there. It was inevitable that I would want to go there, too. I loved to wander the campus at night and position the moon right above the steeple of Rockefellar Chapel. I loved to stand in the walkway near Botany Pond, a favorite of my mother's. A dream of mine? To go back someday and take some of the classes I slid through and really learn the material this time!

Bruce was a wonderful photographer who saw color and composition, and could create emotion.

Being young and poor meant a lot of cooking out and a lot of sleeping in the car. Sounds tough but it was wonderful.

Grandmother was becoming more fragile during this time. Grandfather was gone and mother tried to keep her own apartment, though she'd return to grandmother's house each evening to sleep. I hadn't a single doubt of grandmother's pride in me. I certainly had enough in her.

Few things are more magical than spring in Chicago, with the lilacs and the apple blossoms blooming in Grant Park. It's one of the things I miss the most.

I loved huge earrings, the view from the Adler Planetarium, and just being alive and female.

And I loved mother. Mother was as weird as they come, and certainly more wonderful. She had been an art and English major at U of Chicago and was always trying to get me into art. One Christmas she gifted me with an oil set. I woke up the next morning to find our living room filled with canvases of abstract art. Bruce had found another passion.

Still a Child         Autobiography	When I Was 17         Love Letters	A Young Married Lady

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