Placidity is on the surface: Underneath it was a weekend of whirlwind love and togetherness. There were the knocked-out teeth, the dark and stormys—drinks and weather— the junkets, the bagels, the cooking, the stories, the new minivan and the disfunctional dishwasher. There was talk of aging, of Syria, of art, of eroticism, of learning and reading and, of course, photography.  And now, there is quiet and much polyurethaning.