I was married 32 years ago today. I'm not any longer. Still, it was a splendid affair. There were about 200 people in attendance; the reception was held in a grand old mansion called the Gamble House (named for "Procter's Partner" I gather). A lot of Champaigne-friendly people came up and shook my hand. One did so, and as he pulled his palm from mine, left a gram of coke clutched in my fist. People did things like that back then. Made for a frenetic wedding night. Oh yes, as we said our "I do's" there was a huge forest fire raging in the Angeles National forest behind us. As my lovely bride and I left the church triumphally, some guests threw rice. But mostly large grey ashes from the fire flaked down and festooned everyone's heads and shoulders. Prophetic? I dunno. But I'll tell 'ya, that big 'ol fire behind us made for the BEST wedding photos ever. I mean everyone had the most rosey bright glows about them; no matter how sallow their skin appeared normally. Thanks God; great day! I think of it every Ash Wednesday...

Rob Out...