Bill Norris and his newly betrothed, Rhonda Dix, asked if I might, on the occasion of their pending nuptials, offer an account of my part in their becoming acquainted. It bears noting that we are not speaking here of spring chicken love. I believe they had in mind a memento of sorts. I rather doubt they envisioned an internet expose but aren't we all hoping for a bit more transparency in our affairs.

I am you see, entirely responsible for their having met and fallen in love. This bit of matchmaking is something for which I'm confident Bill will forever be appreciative . Rhonda, well only time will tell. I can't swear to the absolute veracity of this account in that I have brain lesions the size of melons and they sometimes impact on my accurate recollection of events. Should my memory lapse I'll simply make up anything necessary to the smooth flow of the story. Such an approach has served me well throughout my life.

I first met my friend Rhonda some years ago when the Dalai Lama made an appearance in Madison. As I recall, she was descending the stairway at the Kohl Center. At that time she was keeping company with an old and dear friend of mine who I'd not seen in quite some time. We stopped and visited a bit and my old friend made introductions. I remember thinking then that my old buddy must have well concealed attributes to have captured the affections of such a lovely and charming woman. I liked Rhonda immediately. I suspect that friendships initiated in the rarified atmosphere occasioned by the Dalai Lamas presence are particularly auspicious.

I met Bill several years ago on Washington Island. I don't recall the particular circumstances but I'd guess we were both lazing away a morning at the Red Cup Coffeehouse. Bill and I established a quick and easy rapport. We had a good deal in common. We were both urbane raconteurs with our thumbs squarely on the pulse of what was "hapnin". We were in our very late young adult hoods, with a propensity to talk way more than was humanly necessary. Our mutual inclination to blather on and on was exacerbated by the "Cups" strong drink and by our "flexible schedules", unencumbered as they were by the need to be anywhere or to do anything genuinely useful. We had, of course differences. I was a long married man, happy as a clam, destined to live a long fruitful life. I'd likely meet a peaceful end at a very advanced age, regretting nothing and surrounded by multitudes of loved ones. Bill on the other hand led the despairing , barren life of the single man destined to meet an early and agonizing end, alone in a tawdry single occupancy motel on a frontage road outside of Akron. Whereas my nurturing circumstances allowed me to ponder the "big" questions, Bill's intellectual curiosity appeared wholly fixated on learning Victoria's Secret. Friendships initiated under Mike Remke's watchful gaze tend towards a different type of auspiciousness than those occurring within the purview of the Dalai Lama.

In the years after our initial introduction I would occasionally bump in to Rhonda. Though life circumstance did not allow us to know one another well, I recognized her as a kindred spirit. She was clearly a Madison gal. By that I mean whimsical, smart, independent, and adventuresome. Rhonda was given to frequent and impulsive road trips in her quest to stand on the highest points of elevation in as many of the fifty states as possible. You've got to love a gal willing to devote so much time and effort to such an utterly meaningless activity. I don't know whether I had a hand in Rhonda's discovery of Washington Island or not. I suppose it's remotely possible that this was accomplished without my guidance. I do know that at some point she became a frequent Island visitor, generally nesting with the Gibson's. I could sense in my encounters with her that she had succumbed to our collective charms, a fate that leads inexorably to obsession with all things Island.

When Bill and I first became friends I think it would be fair to say that he was not the happiest member of the human family. He was what we might term "between opportunities". He'd retired from a career in teaching and other mysterious endeavors, and completed the Island house he'd been laboring on for years. He was spending much time padding around his lovely home, rearranging the nonexistent furniture, buffing his stainless steel appliances, experimenting with hair "product" and wondering what he might do next. Because I've no boundaries to speak of, I have little reluctance to meddle in the affairs of others. I began to wonder how I might complicate Bill's life.

One morning in the spring of 2004 I ran into Rhonda in a Madison coffeehouse. She mentioned that she and her sisters were hoping to visit the Island soon. I suggested she use my unoccupied house and a plan was struck. I'd met Rhonda's sisters the previous year on the Island and it seemed unlikely that they'd make off with the fine china.

Recognizing this as an opportunity to afford my friend Bill with some much needed female companionship I decided to alert him to the presence of these three lovely women at my modest dwelling. I would encourage him to clean himself up and pay them a social call. Receiving no return call I tried again, with the same outcome. In what can only be termed a yeoman's effort I tried a third time, pretty much deciding that absent a return call, he'd just have to live with his wretched existence. Bill returned my call late on Saturday and got my machine. His message indicated he been off Island. He appeared surprised when I called him back. He rightly contends that I never return my calls. In my defense I've not really received a call I wanted since 1969.

Bill immediately gleaned the extraordinary opportunity being afforded him, and understood that his window of opportunity was rapidly eclipsing. Carpe Diem! as they say. Bill lit out in his truck to make a calculated yet casual, nonchalant call on my lady friends. I believe he managed to coax them out for a meal. To his credit he did not head to the deep fry spot, but to the fancy joint. The opening salvo in the incredibly complex dance of the heart had been made.

Now I had little doubt that Bill would like my friend Rhonda. What's not to like? I was less confident that Rhonda would like Bill. It's not that there's anything wrong with my friend Bill. He is, in fact a very sweet man. He's smart, kind, competent in a host of ways, and like Rhonda, interested in living life to the fullest. And, I haven't even mentioned the big house and big sailboat. One of life's harshest truths has been my acceptance that size matters.

No, it's not that there's anything wrong with Bill. It was more my suspicion that our gender, mine and Bill's, had become increasingly irrelevant to the happiness of the demonstrably superior gender. It seemed to me that if you had not sealed your deal at an earlier point in time, when our gender's deficiencies were less glaringly on display, that your chances were not good. Bill's situation however was not hopeless. Rhonda's a well educated, savvy gal. It was possible that she could see beyond his gender specific limitations to the well intentioned man beneath. Perhaps she was capable of appreciating how hard we guys struggle against the evolutionary dictates of our ancestral environments. Perhaps she could see that much of that shabby behavior was not our fault, that we labor mightily against our very natures to be better boys. It seemed a long shot, but possible.

After that initial weekend Bill reported that he and Rhonda were continuing their friendship through frequent phone chats. This, apparently led to that, and Bill invited Rhonda and her sister to come up and stay at his house for a weekend. Rhonda called me seeking my thoughts as to the wisdom of accepting Bill's invitation. "Was he to be trusted" she wished to know. I told her I'd have to call her back. For my own peace of mind I looked for Bill's name on the National Registry of Sex Offenders. Lets see now, there's a Bill Norbert, a Bill Norrisey, nope, no Bill Norris. I called Rhonda back and told her it looked like a go. "Besides", I told her, "if push comes to shove, I'm pretty sure you can take him".

Well, that weekend led to others and Bill began turning up in Madison on a regular basis. I could see that my friend Bill was just brimming with joy at the unexpected turn of events. Sometime in late fall he confided in me that he was way gone in love and had asked Rhonda to marry him. He asked if I might, being the founder of the feast so to speak, accept a role in the nuptials proper. I hesitated, sensing I'd been craftily led into a double bind. The request was both an honor and an expression of Bill's appreciation. I could hardly refuse yet I knew that accepting would immediately deplete the sizable capital in indebtedness I'd amassed in our relationship. Might, perchance that big sailboat have been behind door number two? I'll never know. That Bill, he's one crafty fella.

The date has now been set. Since being thrust in to such an important role I've been wondering what pithy advice I might cull from my many years as a married man that would be of benefit to my friend Bill. Not generic platitudes, but guidance specific to my friend Bill's unique character. Guidance that might forestall his losing any ground until the deal can be legally sealed. I recalled advice my mother had once offered me that seemed as applicable to my friend Bill as it was to me. "Danny", she said, "things would probably go a whole lot better if you only actually said maybe one out of every three things that you seem determined to say". Don't thank me Bill, thank my mom. Come to think of it she had some of the same sensible attributes I recognize in Rhonda.

From a purely self interest standpoint I'm tickled pink with this union. There will soon be two more like minded people, two more people with a reason to be favorably inclined towards me living on Washington Island. The likelihood of someone being willing to drive all the way out to Jackson Harbor to bring me my warm meals on wheels during my declining years is looking pretty good.