My house doesn’t exist

Sept. 28, 2015


Dear Hildie:


How amazing that the Postal Service says my house doesn’t exist! You ought to get your stamp back.


Thanks for reminding me about how your ex left the University.  I’m not sure I’d ever heard it all—I just thought it was over his objection to defense contracts. I don’t know whether to say “poor fellow” or that I’m glad it worked out for him! Not every man gets a well-off woman to tend to his needs so he doesn’t have to work.


I have to go to the eye doctor today for a routine check-up. I think my distance vision is a little worse than before. Of course, it will mean driving back in the rain with my blinders on.


I’m glad you’re enjoying the manuscript. No living soul has ever seen it before. It’s weird, fantastical, and just ran where it wanted. It fits no genre that I know of.


I’m trying to get all my manuscripts in order so that after I’m wafted away to the land of 73 virgins the folks left can at least see what my “ouvre” consists of. In sum, I’d have to say what I’ve produced may entertain some people. I guess that’s enough.


Well, to work, to work. Take care. DO TAKE CARE.









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