January 26th 2006 – It is Thursday night, almost midnight. I am sitting in a bus station in New York listening to the song “Where the Streets Have No Name” by the band U2. The song is from the 1980s, but it is still good, like all truly great songs.
When I was young, I fell in love with a beautiful island girl. We got married and lived in a house in New Jersey. And then we moved to the mountains where we still live. Every day I take the long bus to the city to work. I have been working very hard, long long days. It is midnight and I still have a long way to go to get home. Across the dark country. I will put one foot in front of the other and I know that I will make it. I walk like a small child holding his father’s hand.
When I was young, I read Bedier’s tale of Tristan and Iseult. That is my idea of love. It is what I believe in.
I still love my wife even though she is no longer the beauty she once was. Even though she tries to hurt me with her words and the look in her eyes, (her beautiful eyes).
She is one of the great mysteries of my world. I love her but, like a cruel god, sometimes she is very hard to love.