Since Dot’s letter yesterday spanned two days, Dart’s is the only one we have today.

But what a letter it is! It seems Dart’s gift for prose was at its best when he was reminiscing about his carefree youth in Cleveland. Tonight, the hot spring air of Chicago has drawn him back to fond memories of long “night-owl prowls” with some of his buddies all over the Lake Erie shoreline and beyond.

With poetic acuity, he conjures the odors and aromas of city and suburbs, industry and agriculture. He recalls the feel of the highway beneath the car, the headiness of freedom. Anyone who has ever experienced one of those endless nights of conversation and exploration that seem to only come in young adulthood, will feel themselves pulled into their own familar memories.

This letter is a treat for the senses. But my favorite part is the final paragraph: “My letters  may be big, Dot, but my love for you is bigger. Memory is long, but my love for you will outlive memory.”

After this dear man had lost the memory of names and places, after he had lost his memory of words, his love for this woman endured. The greatest privilege of my life was getting to witness that.