While haunting libraries in Charlottesville these last few days, I have made some discoveries. Would you like to hear what they are? Of course you would; you’ve probably been beside yourselves waiting for my next missive, you poor dears.

My philosophy professor wrote a book. Apparently, she wrote another one before this that was a bestseller. I had always meant to give her a call one day and tell her that the shiftless ne’er-do-well student in the back of her class has never lost a passion for philosophy that she instilled in him, but now I don’t know. Maybe she has people for that sort of thing, people who handle pedestrian tasks like answering phones for her now.

This author used to live on my street growing up. His son and daughter went to school with me through middle and high school. I thought he was a doctor, didn’t know he had written several books.

Thinking of him reminded me that Rita Mae Brown lived a couple houses down from him, at the end of our road. I never met her, but her black Great Dane named India used to wander down to my house all the time and accompany me on walks through the woods.

Anyway. Just thought I’d share.