We were a spoon lost in their large bed over winters by the shore in the main house employed as caretakers while the owners headed to Boca Raton. Those were special times for us. The showers for two, the private screening room and extensive film library, all the white rooms with their Chagall’s and Miro’s – all ours for a season. The rest of the year, we rented a small suite of rooms above the garages on the owner’s land. During those seasons, we worked at the drive-up Dairy Mart. We each worked a shift six days a week making “milk money.” One night in summer, he asked me, “Are you happy?” I answered, “In winter.” He said, “Me, too.” Then we sat up far too late talking crazy talk of owning the main house somewhere, some way, someday. We didn’t know it then, but summer would become the joy when the future was full, when a thought could take us far beyond the main house into our dreams.