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re: The Picture of Dale

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The many spoons hanging from the spoon racks; collected from so many places.  The coffee mugs, the russian dolls and african masks, all the things that I have brought back with me from my travels.  Things that may remind me of things I've done, they may describe me,  but they do not define me.


My eyes continue to search around my apartment, reading every book title, going from room to room, item to item, waiting for a feeling of "ah..hah" to suddenly flood through me.  If I were a cartoon, the lightbulb would be appearing above my head!  This thought sends me into childish giggles and I fall onto my bed, rolling around and laughing!  In two months I will be sixty years old, but I can still revert to six years old at the drop of a hat! But I digress, what was I doing?


Oh yes, looking for something, that defines me...that I would feel lost without.....and there it is....the picture of Dale.


Dale was my first true love.  He was killed in an automobile accident in our senior year of high school.  We never had a fight, we never broke up, we never had a harsh word between us.  Our relationship ended by death before it ever had a chance to go wrong, so in a sense it was always perfect.  His was the kiss and the love, by which all others would be measured and always found lacking.  He was perfect, you see, and in my mind he would always be perfect. A hard act to follow, an impossible one actually and as it turned out, Dale was my only love.


Yes, that picture sits next to a picture of me, and there they are, both seventeen, both smiling in black and white and there it is that look....the look of love in both their eyes.....


Love never dies.


What a great writing; loved it!  First love is so sweet. 


 


Also, what profound words:  "Love Never Dies".  I've used those three words often.   

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re: The Picture of Dale

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The many spoons hanging from the spoon racks; collected from so many places.  The coffee mugs, the russian dolls and african masks, all the things that I have brought back with me from my travels.  Things that may remind me of things I've done, they may describe me,  but they do not define me.


My eyes continue to search around my apartment, reading every book title, going from room to room, item to item, waiting for a feeling of "ah..hah" to suddenly flood through me.  If I were a cartoon, the lightbulb would be appearing above my head!  This thought sends me into childish giggles and I fall onto my bed, rolling around and laughing!  In two months I will be sixty years old, but I can still revert to six years old at the drop of a hat! But I digress, what was I doing?


Oh yes, looking for something, that defines me...that I would feel lost without.....and there it is....the picture of Dale.


Dale was my first true love.  He was killed in an automobile accident in our senior year of high school.  We never had a fight, we never broke up, we never had a harsh word between us.  Our relationship ended by death before it ever had a chance to go wrong, so in a sense it was always perfect.  His was the kiss and the love, by which all others would be measured and always found lacking.  He was perfect, you see, and in my mind he would always be perfect. A hard act to follow, an impossible one actually and as it turned out, Dale was my only love.


Yes, that picture sits next to a picture of me, and there they are, both seventeen, both smiling in black and white and there it is that look....the look of love in both their eyes.....


Love never dies.


 


Hello, A beautifully written story and I am thankful you had Dale,  I too love to just laugh and be myself, whatever the age I feel at the momen ~ each moment at a time.  It wonderful to feel free to be ~ just be.  Dale was very special, but I have a vision that so are you!  You made just without notice run into another Dale, no different, just maybe a different name.  Things happen all the time.  Your Friend with love and hugs....RaeDi

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re: The Picture of Dale

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In Response to The Picture of Dale:

 




The many spoons hanging from the spoon racks; collected from so many places.  The coffee mugs, the russian dolls and african masks, all the things that I have brought back with me from my travels.  Things that may remind me of things I've done, they may describe me,  but they do not define me.


My eyes continue to search around my apartment, reading every book title, going from room to room, item to item, waiting for a feeling of "ah..hah" to suddenly flood through me.  If I were a cartoon, the lightbulb would be appearing above my head!  This thought sends me into childish giggles and I fall onto my bed, rolling around and laughing!  In two months I will be sixty years old, but I can still revert to six years old at the drop of a hat! But I digress, what was I doing?


Oh yes, looking for something, that defines me...that I would feel lost without.....and there it is....the picture of Dale.


Dale was my first true love.  He was killed in an automobile accident in our senior year of high school.  We never had a fight, we never broke up, we never had a harsh word between us.  Our relationship ended by death before it ever had a chance to go wrong, so in a sense it was always perfect.  His was the kiss and the love, by which all others would be measured and always found lacking.  He was perfect, you see, and in my mind he would always be perfect. A hard act to follow, an impossible one actually and as it turned out, Dale was my only love.


Yes, that picture sits next to a picture of me, and there they are, both seventeen, both smiling in black and white and there it is that look....the look of love in both their eyes.....


Love never dies.


  I find it wonderful how we fill our lives and surround ourselves with momentos of our memories.  I love how you used your wanderings through these things in your life to bring you to your photo and memories of your "only true love" aubergine.  Beautifully written and thanks for sharing this with us.

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re: The Picture of Dale

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  First love is so sweet.   I am glad you had a perfect memory of him.  But I hope you have had many others through your life that are as soft and warm for you as this memory has been.  We make memories every day, both for ourselves and those we touch.  Continue your writings and grow with each memory. Diane

I loved your story about Dale.  What a guy!  Could you describe his appearance to Us?


This is spooky, but I had just been thinking about my mother who was always angry at me about something; in particular, the fact that I did not have a boyfriend as a teenager or even in college.  I just didn't want one...plain and simple.  Oh, I flirted and liked different ones but wanted to be totally independent.  I even just saw guys as sex objects!


One day I drove to Montreal on a whim...on my own.  "Something" pulled me down Rue Berri in Old Montreal.  A foreigner had just asked me for directions and then I spotted a young blond male out in the street...he had watched me and the foreigner.  He entered a building and I kept moving toward him.  It was a cafe!....Cafe de la Paix (I still have the poster).  I saw a face that I immediately fell in love with...vulnerable and sexy...slight beard growth, blue eyes, majestic yet relaxed posture.


Pierre was my first true love.  He spoke to me kindly and informatively.  He was on his way to the Yukon and I had driven to Montreal with images of huge mountains and vast wilderness in my head...we also were both 24 years old.  We walked to my Toyota Corona, miles away...we walked till we were ready to drop.  We ate pastries and drank fine Belgian coffee.  We ate at a Chinese restaurant.  Pierre was the embodiment of everything that other guys had not been for me.  Once at my Toyota, someone parked in front of it suddenly backed up into my car, only slightly denting it.  Pierre said, "Oh, no...now you can't come to the Yukon with me."  I told him I was more than ready and needed to go, as it was my destiny.  Later at the YWCA, I begged him to bring me.   He said, "You could always follow me up there."  Needless to say, it did not happen and I went into a deep depression.  I returned home days later...a totally brainless thing to do.  Mom was on at me again; never happy.  She did figure it out though, that I had fallen in love. 


Next August/Labor Day weekend, I took off again, this time to visit Mom's friend in Schutt, Ontario.  She had a cabin on Hardwood Lake.  I stayed there 8 days, picking berries, chopping wood, fishing, and canoeing.  From there I went to Ottawa and stayed at the YWCA, 8th floor.  I met other men and even went out with them.  One day my sister/and Mom called at the "Y" in Ottawa and told me Pierre had called.  He was back in Montreal.  They gave me his parents' number.  The rest is history.


Pierre and I spent at least two years living in the Canadian bush, visiting his friends, who were everywhere, and traveling to northen Quebec.  Try to find Harrington Harbor on the map; back in the 70's it was virtually unknown (still is) to the outside world.  The residents of this tiny village, without roads/only boardwalks, had just acquired television sets and did not know what to make of them; they used them mainly as night lights.


Pierre decided to get on with his life after we shared an apartment on St. Denis street in Montreal.  He became restless and could see that I was content with the way things were.  He wanted to get back into the mainstream.  Looking back, I can see he was right.  We separated again; he went on to the Univ. of Quebec (political science) and even ended up in Russia, right when Chernoble happened. 


I am now married to Tom, an avid outdoorsman, and he is very sympathetic about my past and my twice thwarted affair.  He recognizes that Pierre was a very independent, "make my own rules" kind of person (but who knows?  He could be married with kids now...)


P.S.  Don't pass up experiences. Seize the moment.  Don't do what I did!   I could have canoed 1000 miles on the Yukon River right through the Five Finger Rapids. 


Ok, I canoed 150 miles on the St.  John River in Quebec/Maine instead...in four days.  Ok, there is still time for the Yukon...

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re: The Picture of Dale

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In Response to The Picture of Dale:

 




The many spoons hanging from the spoon racks; collected from so many places.  The coffee mugs, the russian dolls and african masks, all the things that I have brought back with me from my travels.  Things that may remind me of things I've done, they may describe me,  but they do not define me.


My eyes continue to search around my apartment, reading every book title, going from room to room, item to item, waiting for a feeling of "ah..hah" to suddenly flood through me.  If I were a cartoon, the lightbulb would be appearing above my head!  This thought sends me into childish giggles and I fall onto my bed, rolling around and laughing!  In two months I will be sixty years old, but I can still revert to six years old at the drop of a hat! But I digress, what was I doing?


Oh yes, looking for something, that defines me...that I would feel lost without.....and there it is....the picture of Dale.


Dale was my first true love.  He was killed in an automobile accident in our senior year of high school.  We never had a fight, we never broke up, we never had a harsh word between us.  Our relationship ended by death before it ever had a chance to go wrong, so in a sense it was always perfect.  His was the kiss and the love, by which all others would be measured and always found lacking.  He was perfect, you see, and in my mind he would always be perfect. A hard act to follow, an impossible one actually and as it turned out, Dale was my only love.


Yes, that picture sits next to a picture of me, and there they are, both seventeen, both smiling in black and white and there it is that look....the look of love in both their eyes.....


Love never dies.


 Dear Aubergine9:


What a wonderful way of describing your feelings at the proximity of your sixtieth birthday, never loose the ability of reverting to your childhood at will.


The Picture of Dale defines you as a loving and caring person with unforgetable memories of your loved one.


As you said "love never dies". 


Sara

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re: The Picture of Dale

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The many spoons hanging from the spoon racks; collected from so many places.  The coffee mugs, the russian dolls and african masks, all the things that I have brought back with me from my travels.  Things that may remind me of things I've done, they may describe me,  but they do not define me.


My eyes continue to search around my apartment, reading every book title, going from room to room, item to item, waiting for a feeling of "ah..hah" to suddenly flood through me.  If I were a cartoon, the lightbulb would be appearing above my head!  This thought sends me into childish giggles and I fall onto my bed, rolling around and laughing!  In two months I will be sixty years old, but I can still revert to six years old at the drop of a hat! But I digress, what was I doing?


Oh yes, looking for something, that defines me...that I would feel lost without.....and there it is....the picture of Dale.


Dale was my first true love.  He was killed in an automobile accident in our senior year of high school.  We never had a fight, we never broke up, we never had a harsh word between us.  Our relationship ended by death before it ever had a chance to go wrong, so in a sense it was always perfect.  His was the kiss and the love, by which all others would be measured and always found lacking.  He was perfect, you see, and in my mind he would always be perfect. A hard act to follow, an impossible one actually and as it turned out, Dale was my only love.


Yes, that picture sits next to a picture of me, and there they are, both seventeen, both smiling in black and white and there it is that look....the look of love in both their eyes.....


Love never dies.


  First love is so sweet.   I am glad you had a perfect memory of him.  But I hope you have had many others through your life that are as soft and warm for you as this memory has been.  We make memories every day, both for ourselves and those we touch.  Continue your writings and grow with each memory. Diane

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The Picture of Dale

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The many spoons hanging from the spoon racks; collected from so many places.  The coffee mugs, the russian dolls and african masks, all the things that I have brought back with me from my travels.  Things that may remind me of things I've done, they may describe me,  but they do not define me.


My eyes continue to search around my apartment, reading every book title, going from room to room, item to item, waiting for a feeling of "ah..hah" to suddenly flood through me.  If I were a cartoon, the lightbulb would be appearing above my head!  This thought sends me into childish giggles and I fall onto my bed, rolling around and laughing!  In two months I will be sixty years old, but I can still revert to six years old at the drop of a hat! But I digress, what was I doing?


Oh yes, looking for something, that defines me...that I would feel lost without.....and there it is....the picture of Dale.


Dale was my first true love.  He was killed in an automobile accident in our senior year of high school.  We never had a fight, we never broke up, we never had a harsh word between us.  Our relationship ended by death before it ever had a chance to go wrong, so in a sense it was always perfect.  His was the kiss and the love, by which all others would be measured and always found lacking.  He was perfect, you see, and in my mind he would always be perfect. A hard act to follow, an impossible one actually and as it turned out, Dale was my only love.


Yes, that picture sits next to a picture of me, and there they are, both seventeen, both smiling in black and white and there it is that look....the look of love in both their eyes.....


Love never dies.


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The Picture of Dale

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The many spoons hanging from the spoon racks; collected from so many places.  The coffee mugs, the russian dolls and african masks, all the things that I have brought back with me from my travels.  Things that may remind me of things I've done, they may describe me,  but they do not define me.


My eyes continue to search around my apartment, reading every book title, going from room to room, item to item, waiting for a feeling of "ah..hah" to suddenly flood through me.  If I were a cartoon, the lightbulb would be appearing above my head!  This thought sends me into childish giggles and I fall onto my bed, rolling around and laughing!  In two months I will be sixty years old, but I can still revert to six years old at the drop of a hat! But I digress, what was I doing?


Oh yes, looking for something, that defines me...that I would feel lost without.....and there it is....the picture of Dale.


Dale was my first true love.  He was killed in an automobile accident in our senior year of high school.  We never had a fight, we never broke up, we never had a harsh word between us.  Our relationship ended by death before it ever had a chance to go wrong, so in a sense it was always perfect.  His was the kiss and the love, by which all others would be measured and always found lacking.  He was perfect, you see, and in my mind he would always be perfect. A hard act to follow, an impossible one actually and as it turned out, Dale was my only love.


Yes, that picture sits next to a picture of me, and there they are, both seventeen, both smiling in black and white and there it is that look....the look of love in both their eyes.....


Love never dies.


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