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When you collect as many things as I do, moments of self-doubt are inevitable. Do I really need another shopping list in my latest box of memorablia? Will I care ten years from now that I saved that Cody's bookmark with the names of English 1A/1B instructors whose syllabi I needed to post? Isn't one plastic bag full of brown fur enough?
Thankfully, there are also moments of divine compensation. Dare Wright's 1957 children's book The Lonely Doll is one. I picked it up for almost nothing a few years back, before I had a blog, before I knew what blogs were, even, because I knew that one day I would have the opportunity to share its strangeness with a receptive audience:
Thankfully, there are also moments of divine compensation. Dare Wright's 1957 children's book The Lonely Doll is one. I picked it up for almost nothing a few years back, before I had a blog, before I knew what blogs were, even, because I knew that one day I would have the opportunity to share its strangeness with a receptive audience:
Come visit us in Tucson and we can sit on the sofa and read the whole book together!
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