DEAR ABBY: We relished the letter from Krista and Rick Toberio of San Clemente which appeared in your column in the San Francisco Chronicle. They were the couple who woke up after their wedding night and discovered they had been sleeping in the wrong condominium. Their story took me back -- 52 years -- to our own honeymoon in the midst of the Great Depression.
My husband and I had $14.28 between us to spend on our honeymoon. Fortunately, gasoline was only 10 cents a gallon. My husband borrowed a trailer, barely big enough for two; so we went camping -- the first time ever for me. Luckily, he knew how to cook -- for I'd never learned a thing about that gentle, necessary art, nor had I the least understanding about what camping entailed!
Somehow, we stretched those precious dollars and had a glorious weekend during which I got a terrible sunburn and was "untouchable" for a week. We bathed out of a dishpan, relieved ourselves in holes he dug for the purpose, and loved each other half to distraction -- as we still do.
The Great Depression wasn't all bad, for if we could have honeymooned in style at a ritzy hotel, we would have missed that experience.
We are in our late 70s now and don't camp much, although my husband takes our grandchildren camping, while my old bones stay at home with the cat for company. -- STILL IN LOVE IN ALBION, CALIF.
DEAR STILL: Thank you for sharing that precious memory. When you're in love, a lumpy mattress can be a bed of roses -- and camping out is better than a suite at the Ritz.