I decided it was about time to spotlight my signifigant other, my partner, my friend, my wife, Tracy Jean. That's her, sitting in front of her twin, Mary, and with me at the bus station in Cleveland. Right now, she's sitting next to me at a library computer; we can't afford one of our own just yet.
I think my mother would've not only approved of Tracy, they would've been good friends...she's an old-fashioned girl, good hearted, loving, mindful of God, country, and those around her. Generally, women my mother saw me with were likely to be self-destructive she-people who really didn't love me, or themselves, even.
We laugh a lot together, something that was missing from my life, REAL laughter, not the sardonic braying of the hiply tragic ghosts that haunt what passes for popular society. I'm really Andy Griffith inside, and Tracy Jean helps me to see that that's all right. We love a lot, the solid love that's an act of will rather than sensation.
I wish Ma could've seen her; Ma, and so many others who despaired over what would become of me.