Horseshoe Bay, Bermuda, when the seaweed wasn't too thick and Portugese Man 'o War weren't floating their painful purple poisons around, when the water was warm but not overly so, with my family, feeding Sergeant Majors out of our hands by the diving rocks in front of the scary cave, pink sand between our toes.
... or ...
Laying out in the chaise lounges on the lawn, into the wee hours, with my grandfather, while the Perseid meteors showered overhead, sipping hot cocoa that my grandmother brought us in spite of the time.
... or ...
On another night, just as late, also under the stars, with my kid brother and my college buddy, laying in the middle of a sod farm, buzzed, wondering if the earth's perpetual pull might let go for just the tiniest moment and centrifuge us out into the sparkly inky mystery.
... or ...
That singular afternoon, out in the driveway working on my '65 Mustang, when the woman who would become my wife within a year first walked by in those amazing shorts and tank top, hotter than the midsummer Florida blacktop, starting the conversation that would last 36 years and counting.
... or ...
Any day now, when Judie awakes from her coma and comes back to us, please oh please.