The mid-seventies was a wonderful time for me. My lady was an English woman of breeding and character. I drove a vintage Cadillac, purchased for its collectability. I founded a corporation whose job it was to create an art exchange between Scottsdale AZ and major museums in Iron Curtain countries. I celebrated daily and throughout the year, with noon–hour laps in my pool, swimming naked in the Arizona sunshine and finishing the ritual with sweet potato sandwiches and ginger tea. Many of my friends were of a certain Beverly Hills variety and I had an affectionate pet skunk named Hilda. I traded that life for a white picket fence and lived the next twenty years in utter despair. I am happier now. I am seventy two and embarking on a new career. I am happier than I have ever been and I don’t know why. Nor do I want to.