You've had this happen, I'm sure. You need something and you don't know where to look when suddenly it falls into your lap, or almost. I've been doing a lot of research for the screenplay I'm working on. I need background material for some characters and I have to get inside their heads. I can't start writing dialogue until I know what they might say and what they'll sound like. I've been progressing quite well but with one of the characters, a real person, I have to know a lot more. I checked some of his novels (he was a writer) but I couldn't find what I needed. I member hearing that he had written a book of letters, so I checked out a different area in my local library, and I do mean local.

We have an active, functioning library in my apartment building, supplied by the residents, and kept up to date. As new books come in, the collection is culled and old books are sent off to book sales. In the biography section I found an old book. I took it up to my apartment and when I sat down to open the book, a paperback, it cracked and fell into three sections as hardened glue and brittle paper fell on me. One of the sections, written in the first person by my character, has everything I need, from the right era in his life, to words I can put in his mouth. Wow! Isn't it lucky no one threw it out? Isn't it lucky I found it? Isn't it lucky it opened at the right section? Isn't this a nice day?

For which, thanks.

I just received what will probably be the first keep-in-touch Christmas card of the season and it's really depressing and disappointing. I have long since commented on the fact that in other centuries most people lived and died within about 8 miles of where they were born and enjoyed (or were stuck with) the people they grew up with, whether they liked them or not. In a more recent century, thanks to widespread travel, we have had a wider assortment of people to choose from, and the world became not just our oyster but our oyster bed, full of potential pearls. And with mail and e-mail and easy reproduction (mass market cards, photocopies and print-outs), we have maintained a spurious relationship with a lot of people we liked but may never see again. I remember being (gently) dismayed when one friendly ship-mate acknowledged our brief friendship as just that - brief, and not to be maintained in our post-holiday life. She had travelled more than I had at that time and she was simply being very realistic. I acknowledged that fact of life with subsequent ship-board relationships. A few of them resulted in long-term friendships and visits but most of them became Christmas card contacts. As we use up the fossil fuels we may revert to a narrower field from which to choose our friends (and mates) than we have enjoyed.

I had actually written more but Safari, in its infinitely annoying wisdom, chose to remove most of it. So I'll cut to the chafe (sic) now. This card that I received came from my most frequent dinner companion. Remember we cruised for 109 days; I saw more of her than I see any friends at home in a similar length of time. We swam together most mornings, frequently shared the same experiences on an excursions and played Trivial Pursuit every day. I sent her a copy of one of my books and a couple of notes after I came home. She is an articulate person and computer literate. So when I saw her return address on an envelope in my mail box, I was very pleased, looking forward to reading her message.

She signed it with her full name, and that's all. For all I know, she had a secretary sign it. No other message, just a printed seasonal greeting on a mass-produced card.

I suppose it's a good thing, a valuable new lesson to have learned. If I were Aesop I could draw a succinct moral from it. I'm working on it.