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



Wednesday, March 20, 2013

Audubon heaven, baby


Right outside my window I see hummingbirds flying about the landlady's garden. The hummingbird is so ubiquitous that she bought me a themed mailbox when I moved in. I see them everywhere I go...one trailed me closely as I walked home for lunch one day. Could it have been the Hawaiian shirt I was wearing? The grand flowers on it were pretty darned attractive. It might have been that the bird just had an appreciation for good fabric art!

This morning on the way to work I heard the cooing of doves. I see birds I haven't seen in years here. The doves take me back to my childhood, to visits to my grandparents place in L.A. I would wake in the morning to the sound of those birds outside the window, which matched the beat and cadence of traffic lightly hissing along on Pico. The background beat of early 60's Mexican radio, the patter of Spanish being bantered about in the kitchen, the soft click and clack of dishes, plates and coffee cups close by made those doves an important aural imprint.

Years ago when we met you asked me if I knew about birds or had any favorites. I had been gone so long from the Southland that I forgot about those doves, about the hummingbirds the graced my mom's fushia plants back on Wisteria. I knew about the gulls, had an idea about spotted owls from my Oregon days, could tell a woodpecker from a sparrow but hey, not much else. Never really seemed to find the time or the inclination to label or identify those fowl feathered friends.

You changed that, kiddo. I went from a handful to a full out library's worth of recognition. Got to Portland to see the "bird show". Took in Audubon meetings. Bought the guides. The feeders. Brought it all into my life, colored it beautifully. I'm a happier man for it.

These days I look about me, know that I should break out my Sibley's as I see so many birds that are new to me, that are passing through. My eyes are open. I just need a guidebook.

Thanks for giving me that gift of birdlike flight. My imagination soars, my heart does, too.

Your WHMB

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