On Saturday, there was a notice in my post office box that I had a package. For the rest of you, that would probably not be a big deal -- after all, Christmas and Chanukah gifts are currently clogging the postal arteries as effectively as a ball park hot dog.
But, not for me. I do not give gifts. As a result, I do not receive gifts.
The only exception is my friend Howard, who lives in Hawaii. He occassionaly sends me a box of macadamia candy. But I had just received one of those. What could it be?
To cut through the suspense, I turned in the slip and received, in return, (as is the custom in the post office) what felt like a book. My first conclusion was one of my recent order of Harry Turtledove books had gone astray.
Harry Turtledove it wasn't. Instead, inside the envelope I found a collection of Florence King's reviews: Deja Reviews. I was thrilled. Florence King is one of my favorite writers.
But where did it come from? My first thought was that my colleague Jennifer Rose, author of How to Capture and Keep Clients (a great Christmas gift for the lawyer in your life), had surprised me. She is the only other Florence King fan I know.
That notion had not had time to fully alight when I realized the provenance of the "gift." I recently renewed my subscription to National Review; the book was one of those renewal enticements. Apparently, we NR readers are sent into a frenzy by 72-year old spinsters -- a word she adores.
Of course, Miss King (another title she loves; no Ms. for her) can be infuriatingly contrary. Any woman who can call herself a misanthrope (and live up to the term) is the very essence of liberated woman -- a woman who can despise Sean Hannity while praising Jon Stewart. Or who dislikes Al Gore because he reminds her of an undergraduate suitor who threw up on her on the Ferris wheel.
Jennifer may not have sent me the book, but I can imagine that it was served to me from the very hand of La King.
I suspect you will all receive a goodly serving before too long.
But, not for me. I do not give gifts. As a result, I do not receive gifts.
The only exception is my friend Howard, who lives in Hawaii. He occassionaly sends me a box of macadamia candy. But I had just received one of those. What could it be?
To cut through the suspense, I turned in the slip and received, in return, (as is the custom in the post office) what felt like a book. My first conclusion was one of my recent order of Harry Turtledove books had gone astray.
Harry Turtledove it wasn't. Instead, inside the envelope I found a collection of Florence King's reviews: Deja Reviews. I was thrilled. Florence King is one of my favorite writers.
But where did it come from? My first thought was that my colleague Jennifer Rose, author of How to Capture and Keep Clients (a great Christmas gift for the lawyer in your life), had surprised me. She is the only other Florence King fan I know.
That notion had not had time to fully alight when I realized the provenance of the "gift." I recently renewed my subscription to National Review; the book was one of those renewal enticements. Apparently, we NR readers are sent into a frenzy by 72-year old spinsters -- a word she adores.
Of course, Miss King (another title she loves; no Ms. for her) can be infuriatingly contrary. Any woman who can call herself a misanthrope (and live up to the term) is the very essence of liberated woman -- a woman who can despise Sean Hannity while praising Jon Stewart. Or who dislikes Al Gore because he reminds her of an undergraduate suitor who threw up on her on the Ferris wheel.
Jennifer may not have sent me the book, but I can imagine that it was served to me from the very hand of La King.
I suspect you will all receive a goodly serving before too long.
