Precursor to Wave #3

There are some faces that are emblazoned in our memories...

Hmm. Nope, let's try that again. (Throat clearing noise)

Okay, there are some people, whom, will always be a part of our lives no matter what.

My uncle, Wally, god rest his soul (and a merry old soul was he), was one of these.

Parents, siblings, loved ones - we carry these people around with us until there is the person, themself, and there is the person living inside our head*, sometimes ascending even into myth. (Again, witness Uncle Wally, a figure who looms large, not only in my memories, but in those of literally hundreds if not thousands of people.)

And then there's your ex-wife.

(dramatic pause)

Okay, not your ex-wife, my ex-wife (and I may be circumlocuting ever so slightly, here...), my ex-wife - the inimitable, "K":

Not to be confused with my most recent ex - the ex-girlfriend "K" - and a shout out to you, my dear, who are still doing battle in NY's Long Island, but are soon to finish residency and embark on doctorhood. As the Fun Loving Criminals once said, "best wishes... and knishes".

All right, I think I've danced around this one enough. And now, back to our story:

So there I was, minding my own business on a loverly Saturday Morning at the Phoenix Art Museum. M and I had breakfasted at the Welcome Diner and decided to stop in for the Impressionist Exhibit...

Crap.

Okay, sorry for the cliff hanger ending but I must rush off. Damn this whole "making a living" thing and how it interferes with really important things. Like blogging. Sigh.

More later. Promise.

*footnote: Okay, yeah, I've been reading some Roland Barthes lately, so the whole division between people and the images we carry of them is not necessarily original. On the other hand, "Right Mindfulness," a key to the Eight Fold Path to Buddhist Enlightenment is considerably older... blah blah blah.