You know that lovely book that Mom gave me when I was living in Cannon Beach with them -- "The Country Diary of an Edwardian Lady?" It is a beautiful thing, and I've read it twice and looked through it randomly several times -- well, it caught my eye while I was doing some unpacking and arranging in my room, and I began looking through it again, carrying it out and sitting in my chair in the living room while doing so. I even tried to point out some of its beauties to Joe, as well as its obvious time specificity -- whatever that word ought to be. Damn this post-brain-hemmorhage-mentality! -- since there aren't young woman who spend all their days painting the local flora and fauna and drinking tea anymore.
Anyway. So the book has been sitting on my ottoman in the living room for a week or so. And then I exchanged my library books, and was reading one of them, another time-specific story of a divorced woman looking for love in the sixties and seventies. Called "Nell." And toward the end, it mentions by name the book she is reading, (although throughout the book, they never did -- only said, "she picked up her book" or something like that) and the book is "The Country Diary of an Edwardian Lady!" I looked from the name on the page to the book itself lying on my ottoman! And it's not as though I have ever seen it mentioned in ANYTHING before! Not like Stephen King or Ruth Rendell or Alexander McCall Smith!
This is one of those amazing little bits of coincidence that would freak Michael out for a week. He would have grabbed up the book and hurled it into the trash outside the house, and then huddled in a room somewhere, telling me how much he didn't like it. "I don't like this, maa-aa-aan!"
Tee-Hee. But pretty cool, no?