I have a photo of us -- I think it's the first Hallowe'en -- and it's rather unflattering of both of us. The angle of the shot manages to elongate my nose and chin in such a way as to turn me into the babushka I shall become, and for some reason his face is puffy and a bit red, and his hair looks like it could use a wash. But oh, the happiness we generate in each other beams through. His arms clench my waist, my hands cradle his arms, and he looks straight into the lens with merry eyes that say "This is my woman." My gaze is locked on him, inviting him to turn back and engage the intimate dance that awaits each time we look at each other. The pose says: meant to be, meant to weather all storms, a dance for life.
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