Today is my friend Becky's birthday. If she were still alive, she'd be 56, just like me. Unlike the anniversary of her death, this is a happy day. I always think about how lucky I was to know her, and I remember the little gifts and lunches we always shared to celebrate the occasion.
And speaking of little gifts . . . I just opened a book of mine I haven't opened for maybe ten years, even though I love it: THE ART OF THE PERSONAL ESSAY edited by Phillip Lopate. I'm doing a leetle report on Montaigne tomorrow, and so I thought I'd read his essays there. Anyway, Becky's handwriting filled the margins.
I know!
I'd forgotten that I'd once loaned her the book (she taught a class for me) and so all her notes were right there for me to read. What are the chances, people?
Hey, Universe! Thank you.
4 comments:
I would push like if this were facebook. I am glad Becky wrote the notes, and I am glad you found them.
How lovely is this? So lovely.
Ah, sweet synchronicity. Jung was right.
Really? That is pretty awesome, and totally meant to happen, I'm sure of it.
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