My life begins at 10:15 AM, when Laura gets off that plane today! Oh, not that I had not life before, but now I shall have it more abundantly. This, no mere dream of two weeks past, to vanish as quickly as it appeared. Now our reality begins. Now our lives are truly entwined, never to unravel again. The unraveling of her departure has not destroyed the skein, the yarn with which we are knit together. And so together we come, never to part again. Oh, heavenly yarn!

Laura is at last here. Really and truly here! I feel like we are two kids who have finally passed some karmic test, and so now are allowed to fully have each other. Oh, I do have her! And she has me!

Last Sunday, April 5th was very special. I said to Laura, ``Let's go to Service Merchandise and check out the wedding rings we saw in their catalog.'' So we did! Gratefully, they called them friendship rings . . . the Irish Claddaugh ring. I was very nervous at this solemn event. I told the saleslady we'd think about them and be back. Laura and I walked about eight feet away and she said to me, ``If you really want those rings, why don't we get them?'' We walked back and told the saleslady we'd decided to get them. Laura's hand is so large that curiously the largest ``men's'' ring only fit her pinkie. The smaller ring was a tiny bit too large for my ring finger.

How proud I am of them.

At church that night Ruth, one of the women in the choir with me, was showing off the wedding rings that she and her lover Laurie had bought. I couldn't resist the opportunity to show off. Proudly I thrust out my hand,``See the rings Laura and I have!!!''

Each time I have cast my eye to the river and its charms, the words of a folk song come to me, ``I'm gonna go and live by a river until my soul is cleansed.'' Although I can't claim the next line of the song, ``I'm gonna go and live by a river until my journey's end.'' For I'm going to the desert. I'm sure Arizona will have many spectacular sights all its own. I am grateful I had the chance to drink in Joliet's beauty before leaving, and grateful that I was able to realize it while still here. The old saying, ``You never miss the water until the well runs dry.'' doesn't apply here. I have savored each drop of the water.

Late one night she told me of a vision, a memory of a time ages and ages ago that she shared with Mary. They stood before a council of three wise men and were told the bond they shared could be broken if one of them weakened. Laura remembers travelling the ages with Mary. Laura was given a mission and was told it would be exceedingly difficult, but would lighten later in life. Quipping glibly she answered, ``Piece of cake!''

Perhaps that task was her transsexual fate. Mary couldn't handle it and persisted in seeing Laura as a man. The relationship couldn't stand this test. The fates provided another who could see the woman in Laura. And that was me!

The `memories' I have of her came in two dreams. She was transsexual in the past life . . . long blonde hair, tall, not quite as large boned as this time. In that time, without the advances of modern science and female hormones, her breasts were flat. I remember her eyes were the same. Perhaps even then we wanted union but couldn't because of her bond with Mary. Mary had to say the words, ``The bond is broken.''

When Laura was back in Arizona, Mary said exactly those words. Laura responded,``By your word, so it is done.'' Now we, she and I, are bonded.

When she returned I felt as if we had passed all our karmic tests and now, at last, we truly have each other. There were tests I had to pass too. I had to love her enough to let her go, have the love that frees, like the saying, ``If you love something, set it free. If it comes back it's yours. If it doesn't, you never had it in the first place.'' Had I not kept the faith, our union wouldn't be possible.

I am so strong in her love; the naturalness we share is now so blessed. In my memory I can see her face from every conceivable angle. After she left, I tried to remember her face. But sadly I could only recall a certain angle or two.

How I love her.

Our moving plans are getting wheels. The tank is filled in the U-haul truck, all belongings are packed, and soon the ignition key will be turned. Two more days. The bath we took together greatly refreshed us after our labors.

Laura just awoke and told me of a dream she'd had while sleeping. She was once again before the council of three. She noticed their eyes were golden. They told her that I had been given to her and that she had been given extra time. We would now have a shared mission. They wore the same white robes and golden girdles around their paps as they had in earlier dreams.

Now we are both wide awake and excited about our journey. This is the last night we shall spend in this place. Curiously, Laura said it almost felt like she was going to Arizona for the first time. It will all be new for her, too, for she will be seeing it through my eyes.. I will think of Joliet with fond memories. I have taken many pictures to help me remember people and places. The future awaits and I am eager.

ARIZONA, here we come!

I'm free!

It's sad! When we stopped off to say goodbye to my Uncle, my Aunt, and Gramma, all three of them said I'd be back before summer was over. A last feeble attempt to control me. What a pity! To demean my intellect by making the grand assumption that they know what is good for me. They don't know me. Not really! Perhaps if they really knew me they wouldn't want me back. Such a pity. They are the losers.

2:30 PM! 203 miles to St. Louis.

I remember something my Aunt said when her defenses were down. This was a long time ago. She said she always liked to tell God, when she was praying, how to solve the particular problem she brought before him. There was one problem involving her daughter in particular. When things didn't go according to her plan she felt angry. Later she learned it was all for the best. She'll have to eat crow again, and I'll smile while she eats it. I won't be back!

An endless horizon of black velvet night, setting the diamond stars off to perfection, stretches before us. Laura tells me there are greater sights to be had in Arizona.

It was a perfect poet's night. Stopping to take a break, Laura rested her head in my lap while I finished the last of my chocolate milk. But I wasn't fully awake and the grip on my carton loosened. Both Laura and I were inundated with chocolate milk. I tore off my blouse and put on a sweater. Laura shed her milk covered top (one that I had made for her), and draped one of my sweaters over her breasts. Then she laid her head down again. After a half hour nap we are back on the road. She is wearing a stretchy undershirt of mine. I love her in my clothes and I love to wear her clothes. It is an added touch of intimacy.

Cuervo is a tiny town we just passed. Laura called it a ``postage stamp'' town. She said there are towns so small that if you blink you can miss them. She wasn't exaggerating. Cuervo is in the middle of nowhere, there are maybe six, at most ten, homes, a rustic post office, a gas station and that's all there is of Cuervo. Almost laughable. It must take some pluck to live in such a place. I thought Minooka, where my father lives, is small. You can walk from one side to the other in a half hour. Cuervo can be crossed in five minutes in a slow amble.

Another thing unique to this area is a lot of Indians. One was standing by the side of the road, thumb up, waiting for a ride. A Hopi, Laura said. There are many Hopi, some Navajo, and the Apache still exist. An Indian is an extremely rare sight in Joliet, there are more Indians from India there.

Laura says there are more changes of terrain in Arizona than anywhere else in the nation. This is quite a state that can I now call my own.

There's even snow here,in April! Patches of snow decorate this forest which is now a mountainous area ascending higher and higher along winding roads. Imagine that! I travel 1900 miles to Arizona to see snow! These isolated patches are all I care to see of that cold white stuff. I will never need to shovel it again.

The trip down Route 87 was spectacular. I didn't write immediately about the glories of nature at their most sublime. I couldn't bear to turn my eyes away from the view to write. All I could think of was the awesome power of God, the power to create such wonder.

Phoenix is delightful. I had no idea it would be so gorgeous. Laura had down played its beauties so, that I expected a flat treeless wasteland. I have a feeling that I have never had before. Arizona is my turf. I gain strength from this land.

Last night Larry and Anton came over with pizza. It was great to meet them. They are both special. Anton, Laura's youngest boy, reminds me of Laura, not only in certain vocal expressions and facial appearance, but in his great intelligence and his extreme conscientiousness. Like Laura he has the tendency to put everyone ahead of himself, sometimes to a point that can go too far.

Larry, Laura's oldest boy, although almost as old as I am, seems quite young. He is highly intelligent and good with his hands; he took a look at our air conditioning and immediately told us the problem with it. There is a vulnerability about him that makes him seem young. Yet there is something very sweet about him. If only he gains the self-confidence he needs.

Here we take leave of Joan's Journal. Was she not the delight that I had promised?

Joan and I lived in Phoenix for nearly five months. Our honeymoon was the hottest summer on record, temperatures often rose above 115 with a 122 for a record high. We spent a number of weekends in Tucson just for a little relief. Tucson, at 2,500 feet versus Phoenix at 1,600 feet, runs an afternoon temperature five degrees cooler, but in the evening the spread can be twenty five degrees, more in the early hours of morning. Joan, the newcomer to sweltering summers, and I, the old timer who was supposed to be inured to it, both yearned for the cooler weather of Tucson.

Then too, my health was at a miserable low. In Joliet, while romancing each other, walking by the river, or laying in bed making love, neither Joan nor I noticed my health. Now, however, we would visit Metro Center, one of the largest malls in the nation, and a short walk would rapidly tire me out. With the smallest exertion, I became short of breath and would have to stop to rest until my chest pain went away.

We tried light exercise, evening walks of three or four blocks and back, but there was no noticeable improvement. We suspected part of the problem was the foul air of the thriving metropolis. Phoenix was infamously renown as the worst city in the U.S. for concentrations of carbon monoxide, and carbon monoxide is especially dangerous for anyone with cardiovascular disease. We both had considerable anxiety over what seemed to be my impending doom. There is no doubt my condition was serious, bordering on critical.

Another problem with living in Phoenix was the proximity to Mary, not so much her physical presence as the ghost of our past together. Everywhere Joan and I went there were memories of the years Mary and I had spent in that city. Often, spontaneously, some sight would stir up an old memory and, feeling sorry for her, and perhaps a little for myself, I would cry like a baby. Not that I wanted Mary, or to go back to those sad days; I cried for the illusion of those times as I had seen them through rose colored glasses.

Appraising all factors, Joan and I decided to move to Tucson. Tucson is a beautiful city. Nestled in the mountains the view is always spectacular and every afternoon a gentle breeze sweeps away the heat of the summer days. There were other pleasant surprises in store for us as well. Tucson, much to the consternation of the conservative state politics of Arizona, has a law prohibiting discrimination on the basis of sexual preference. It was hard to believe, a bastion of open minded liberal thinking in one of the most conservative of states.

Our first months in Tucson were delightful: the Desert Sonora Museum, Old Tucson (a theme park where many western movies and TV shows are made), walking in Sabino Canyon, shows at Flandrau Planetarium, the University of Arizona library, Tucson Mall, Bookman's (the world's best and largest used bookstore), and most of all it was our city. It belonged to Joan and me. We owned it, every stick and stone, lock, stock, and barrel. It was ours. No memories of Mary intruded on us, on me, in Tucson. We had stayed in Phoenix only long enough to see Anton graduate and shortly after his graduation he joined the Air Force. On September 28th we had our mobile home hauled to a court just off exit 254 on Interstate 10.

When I met Joan I was dying! There is no question in my mind that my heart was at the point of near collapse. I was prepared to welcome it. My previous marriage had been a strange union of two people who tolerated each other, occasionally even enjoyed each other, but who had shared little of life. We each bent to accommodate the other and the more we bent the more unhappy we both became. With the last of the children gone the long bleak years that spread before me were more frightening than the specter of the grave. After falling in love with Joan life changed beyond anything I could have imagined. Everything I ever longed for in marriage Joan provided. My happiness was so complete that spontaneously, reflecting on my good fortune, I would break out in tears. Now, I wanted desperately to live. But death seemed to hang heavy in the air, an ominous third fellow in an otherwise perfect marriage.

Fortunately, Mother Death was not to have her way with me. Joan and I went to bed at night together, in the same room and the same bed, around nine o'clock. With someone to sleep with, rest came easy. I woke up each morning refreshed, rested, something totally foreign to me. We ate regular meals, balanced and healthy. We exercised regularly, used bicycles as our primary transportation, and steadily my health improved. Living with Joan saved my life. I became stronger, healthier than I had been for years, physically and emotionally.