To [illegible] at Christmas '73I've no idea who Mitzi and whomever (Steven, perhaps?) are, and can't, for the life of me, recall how I came into possession of this book. No matter, I'll put in my stack of summer reading materials between all six volumes of The Power Boys and Stealing Lincoln's Body.
Who also must tame barking dogs & one kitten that's always causing him NOT to hear (all the muses wish him to.)
For that & oh, so many things, I ask forgiveness.
I do love you darling.
Your Mitzi as long as she is .....
This got me thinking about how whenever I gave my husband a book, he'd immediately want to know if I had inscribed it. His face would light up if I had, so I tried to whenever possible. (And I admit, I was unable to bring myself to write anything in the vintage copy of Being and Nothingness I got him.) And on a shelf not too far from the book Mitzi gave to hers, I still have a copy of the very first book, the very first thing if memory serves, I gave my beloved. On one page I traced an outline of my hand, on the verso, and inscription that is, now, as cryptic as Mitzi's. The words almost senseless now, but the meaning perfectly clear, nearly twenty years later.
Anyway, it was his birthday Friday. Happy birthday, dear boy, no books this year, just a couple dozen roses. I hope that will do.