Diane: my carry-around pic, from, well, a couple of years back.

Something happened last month when I went down to New Zealand.

I fell in love.

Again.

It was Diane. I had known her in student days. She was bright, shy, that unexpected laugh, those unexpected whims of iron when it came to things she cared about. I liked all of that.

We hung out together, then we hung out together in Asia. Then we each got involved elsewhere, got families, got…well, it was complicated. Bottom line is, I saw her again last month. And it was like everything had changed and nothing had changed. It was beautiful. I proposed. She finally said yes.

Now she’s going to be here. She’s flying in August 9th. The only question is where and how do we do it, get married? Not that there’s any pressure, beyond family and people who love us wanting us to do it. But it could be anything. We’re at that delicious, dreamy, not quite planning stage.

“Why not underwater?” I say.

“Why not in your little garden?” she says on the phone. “Have you tidied it yet?”

“Why not in Méhico, with some friendly friar?”

“Why not floating down the San Diego River on inner tubes?”

Now she’s reading, online. “Why not at The Abbey, on Fifth, ‘with room for 300 seated, or 475 for strolling events?’”

“Well why not the Hotel Del?”

“Didn’t you say it was huge? And hugely expensive?”

“OK, why not on the beach, with my buddy Kim, playing his mandolin?’

“Or perhaps make it a Buddhist thing. Don’t you have that Self Realization Fellowship? Encinitas?”

“Or at a Lao temple? They have one here. Remember Laos?”

“I remember you left me in Bangkok. Why did you leave me?”

“You had that romance with the Pan Am pilot.”

“Only because, well, doesn’t matter.”

“One problem.”

“What?”

“Buddhists don’t marry people. They’ll bless you but…”

“Plus, we’ll have to do it again.”

“Again?”

“For your family and then for mine, back in Aotearoa.”

“Uh?”

“Aotearoa. New Zealand.”

“Oh wow. Getting complicated.”

“Well…”

“‘Well’ what?”

“Well, maybe we should just elope.”