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



Monday, April 5, 2010

Moveable feast

Happy Easter, love.
I avoided my spare room all day today, even though I could see it quite easily across the hall from my bed. It was grey and wet today, just like it was that one Saturday before Easter, the one that we shared four years ago. I looked outside and said to heck with it, decided to play indoors instead, and watched some movies, cooked, wrote, all that. But even though the day lacked the joy we shared that day, even though I left the outdoors behind to seek comfort and solice in cinema, I felt your presence here in this house all the same. I was as if the roof was torn off by strong winds, allowing the rain to come down and saturate my bed. I felt you all around me, like I would that cold, cold rain. It sat heavy on my shoulders, my linen, my heart. I didn't want to cozy up to it, frankly, I wanted it to go away. I didn't have hail to watch from my windows that day, I didn't have slushy, cherry petal trails to walk through in the late afternoon. Instead all I had was an empty Easter basket of dreams, the stale taste of dark chocolate in my mouth, an empty bed, a mirthless day to mumble through, a day hobbled by old dreams, sour desires, ancient love.
But that was Saturday. Sunday was wonderful, as wonderful as an Easter can be five hundred miles from the kids. The weather was okay, I had my buddy the Hot Dog King over to sup, we ate a pile of crab legs, baked a ham, sipped libations, watched a thriller, laughed a lot, trolled some online dating services..in other words, lived the day in a big way. On that day I knew that in my heart I had risen above the storm and had moved to a new spot on the game board and baby, that is a good thing. Doesn't mean I don't love you any less, it just means that I moving along.

You were missed, no doubt. We never seemed to have enough of that good stuff, but here's to a couple of people who were in love and who took a big bite out the chocolate rabbit of life. I know that I have savored that bite for a long, long time. Yummm.

Yours in rolling rocks and Easter bunnies, WHMB

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