A few of my early years were spent loving life in the village of Low Moor, Iowa (pop. 276). It was in Low Moor that I had my first affair of the heart.
Her name was Eleanor and she was 18. I was five and planned to marry her. Once I made up my mind that I would ask for her hand there was no stopping me. I dressed up and clipped a bow tie to the collar of my white shirt one night and left to walk the few blocks to Eleanor's house. On the way, I stopped at the local barber shop for a trim and then continued to Eleanor's house.
I knocked on her door and she answered. "Will you marry me?" I asked. To her credit she did not laugh. She smiled and thanked me and said that maybe we should wait before taking any vows. I was satisfied. I had declared my love and intention, so I turned around and walked back home, my little feet barely touching the ground. A few months later Eleanor went off to college, we moved to Clinton, and I never saw her again. I like to think she's waiting for me there in her home at the edge of town before the endless cornfields begin.
