How We Met
Move to January 8, 1994, at Dickerman cabin in Harts Location, New Hampshire. Harts Location is shaped somewhat like the state of California. But it's a little bit less populous. Just how remote is Hart's Location? Look it up on the map, and you will find it exists (unlike Dickerman cabin, which burnt to the ground last fall). Other than that, a traveler would have to content himself with the overwhelming natural beauty of Crawford Notch, when visiting Harts Location. This town has one road, one shop, no municipal services, no school system, and 70 or so citizens. What a perfect place to site a romantic cabin. It was also the place to site the Dickerman cabin. Dickerman was fun; it was cozy; it was rustic; it even was comforting. It wasn't romantic. Not, that is, unless one considers a sleeping room filled with a dozen mattresses romantic.
David, drives up Saturday evening, after spending the day with
one of his daughters, and pulls up a chair for dinner. Bonnie is
in the process of serving the dinner, which she has
orchestrated. Anyone who knows Bonnie knows that the US Army,
Ringling Brothers Circus, and several repertory companies take
lessons from her on coordinating teams of workers. This process
takes time. When David arrives, he notices that all the chairs at
the table are full but one, and food is on the table. He also
notices that the one empty chair appears to belong to
Bonnie. Being well trained, he puts his hands in his lap and
waits. Only a few moments later, other diners question him on
his apparent lack of appetite. When he points out that the
hostess is not seated, they one by one put down their silverware
and join him in waiting. Soon, the entire table is patiently
waiting for Bonnie to be seated. She eventually completes the
preparations for the invasion of Normandy, and takes a seat. She
is perplexed. Nay, she is amazed and delighted, that everyone has
waited for her. Being honest folks, the cabin inmates give David
the credit. This does his reputation a world of good.
Skip over one date, to two weeks later, and another ski weekend. This time, Ol' man winter paid a visit to Craftsbury Common, in the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont. Sunday morning the sun took a peek over the top of the covers, and decided to go back to sleep. We never were certain exactly how cold it was. One thermometer read 35 below, but, then again, that's as low as it went. Throw in a wind of 30 - 40 mph, and the windchill was attention-getting. All the sensible folks on this trip were settled in front of the fire. Bonnie was despondent as breakfast approached. She dared not go out in this cold alone, but none of her companions would budge from inside layers of comforters. Just as she had resigned herself to a day spent indoors doing needlepoint (or whatever silly activities people do indoors on perfectly good ski days), the front door opened, and in walked David. It turns out he had gone for a pre-breakfast ski. He had only gone for 5 or 6 miles, once he realized that his single layer of clothing would protect him against the cold for approximately 45 seconds in the event he had an accident. He commented on the fact that it was a bit nippy out, and wondered who was up for a long day of skiing. His reputation soared.
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Last modified: Thu Dec 16 16:59:50 EST 1999