Driving back from Rockford Library, skimming around the curves on Marengo Road, I thought about Ceremonies.  It was late summer, 1974.   A fair amount of material had piled up.  I kept the pieces in the order I wrote them.  There was no timeline to Ceremonies.  There was no beginning, middle or end.  You could arrange it any way you liked.  I loved that.  I drove south on Route 23 in my old Buick.  Early evening light was fading.  I let my mind wander through a story about failing to ask Valentine out.