I received a hand-addressed letter today from "the caring staff" of my wife's former hospice service, who invited me to join them as they "dedicate May 3rd to the remembrance of Phil Carpenter" -- i.e., me.
I thanked them for their pre-sentiment, but declined attendance.
Who says this world is becoming a cold, impersonal, bizarrely inefficient outpost of the galaxy?
Ack. But it least you can take pride in fellowship with Mark Twain -- not a shabby thing for a writer, eh?
Posted by: Janicket | March 24, 2012 at 09:23 AM