I’ve begun setting the type for the wedding invitation. I can’t wait till it’s time to ink up the press. I’m addicted to the smell of ink. There’s an old printer in Saugerties I used to visit just so I could breathe in the ink! He helped me master the art of makeready when the Abbot Agnes allowed me to get the old press running again.
Of course, it's the young lady who ordered the invitations and who stars in my fantasy, even though I haven’t met her. I see us going off for our honeymoon on a car trip to the Poconos or the Big Horn Mountains to fish for rainbow trout or somewhere else just as exciting. Guess that’s rather tame compared to the wedding trips I hear modern young couples take.
"Aruba, Jamaica, ooo I wanna take ya;
Bermuda, Bahama come on pretty mama;
Key Largo, Montego baby why don't we go?
Down to Kokomo."
I can play that song on my guitar just like the Beach Boys, but not when Abbot Agnes is around.
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