The toughest thing about being a kid may indeed be being single. Twins don't know the half of it. Sure, their cookies crumble once they realize they can't marry each other. But until that rude awakening, twins breeze through childhood like dental floss through peanut butter. Inside every restless adult relentlessly seeking their doppelganger is a child who, having unsuccessfully conjured up their twin, grew too attached to their blanket.

Might this explain Christo's artwork? (You may recall his enigmatic cloth gates in New York's Central Park that inspired the funny joke, "Orange you glad understanding this is a walk in the park?") One of his early works, pictured here, was recently discovered by an unemployed Welsh coal miner while visiting relatives in Seabrook. Though yet to be officially authenticated, it is probably priceless.

Whether or not Christo spent part of his childhood on the Seacoast is now the subject of much scholarly debate. If he left his native Bulgaria by stowing away on a ship in a potato sack, entering Portsmouth Harbor at age 12, having been cozily wrapped in burlap for the long journey would have intensely bound Christo to cloth, the way twins feel about bicycles built for two.

Rumor has it Christo lived in Odiorne Point State Park, disguised as a paperboy. Subsisting on twigs, berries and fish, he befriended seagulls and chipmunks, and, in a burst of creative genius, began wrapping pebbles and tin cans in bits of cloth left by happy-go-lucky litterbugs.

At 16 Christo landed his first job selling fish. But wrapping fish in newspapers only urged him toward larger game, so, dressed as an unattractive woman, he became a chambermaid. He whiled away his days joyfully wrapping luscious bed linens around dreamy mattresses, like giant newspapers around giant fish.

When makeup became a drag, Christo found employment at a yacht club chockablock with Mr. and Mrs. Moneybags. Rather than stewing in envy and vandalism, Christo rapturously anticipated autumn's falling prey to winter's icy fangs-for with them came the chance to wrap boats in massive sheets of protective plastic, like even more gigantic newspapers around more gigantic fish. In some ways Christo began to resemble an irascible, peg-legged ship captain obsessed with capturing a huge, mangy, white whale, except that he was generally upbeat and easygoing.

The rest is history. Christo met Jean Claude at a Yoken's singles event, and soon, as a couple, they began wrapping buildings, canyons, islands, you name it: if it's huge, they wrap it (or Christo draws pretend pictures of it). Why they've never wrapped the whale wall remains a mystery.

Single or double, we all have our problems. Sooner or later stamps will go up to 38 cents, and we'll have to deal with our anger. Remembering to stop and smell the flowers, as it were, is essential. The next time you see a trash bag on a sidewalk, or a plastic bag blowing across a parking lot, or a washcloth stuck in a tree, don't think, "Should I adopt another highway?" Why doubt yourself when it's just as easy to embrace hope and wonder? Think instead, "Maybe I'll discover a Christo buried in my backyard with a bunch of old money."

So be on the lookout for contrived acts of beauty. Like gold caps bedazzling a rapper's blingy grin, Christo's "wrappers" can only twinkle amongst us when exposed, the way cavities shimmer like diamonds to an ambitious dental hygienist.