In July 1967, my father was madly in love, and his comely new bride was begging him, with tears in her eyes, not to make her get on a plane again. So he didn’t. They canceled the rest of the trip, spent the weekend in New York City, and used the leftover money to buy their living room furniture, which they forever after referred to as “the honeymoon divan” and “the honeymoon love seat.”
