An unveiling of artifacts

The Tale of the Librarian's Fifth Wife is collection of moments, an assemblage of events, a bread basket of words, a swap meet of scraps left behind from a beautiful romance that will help clue you in to the real deal, to the life of two star crossed lovers that has already been lived and left behind. For the moment, anyway.


Our lives lie scattered over several states and a half a case worth of decades. It's not so much a want as a need to do this, to gather together the splinters and the shards of our times and share them here with you. Those bits and pieces of flotsam and jetsam found below in this winsome log are the bits and pieces of our times, a smattering of the trinkets of the love that Jane and I gathered up over the course of five long hard years. How they come to you now is in a story of sorts, a type of autobiographical fiction, with images cadged from places other than our satchel. Give it time, photos, sepia, wrinkled, pocket worn, are yet to come.


So, what else is there to do but get out that cobbled together blanket of dreams from the back of the car, spread it out under the branches of our favorite green and noble Oregon Maple tree that we both loved and share these words and tales of those long ago times with you. It was a wonderful time. Sit a spell, grab your spectacles and come ride along with us for awhile.

Love, Jane, the Professora and Roger, the Wild Half Mexican Boy


Friday, December 18, 2009

Three nights and a hang up


Hello to you. Tonight I tried to engage you in a "chat". I told you about my day and then, when I slipped away to check on the label of the wine I had before dinner, you gave me a moment longer and hung up. Whoever you are, you need to spend a moment or two longer between pauses for the story to be fleshed out. It's funny how you give me the silent treatment, but stay on just long enough for me to say hello and meander a bit. It's been strange talking to the void but stranger yet not to hear a sound from your end. Three days running. Yet, in it's own strange way, okay. I'm home, give a call, but, hey, next time, breathe.

Your WHMB
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