Feeling anxious about picking up another book, I braved the drive during the arrival of a snow storm. Don't think it an obsession-- with books. I think it's simply love. It's sailing away from life's daily grind. It's a breath of fresh air in the confinement of the cold winter. It's just what I do during hibernation.
what's in store for me? Steinbeck.
i don't care much for introductions in books, but i enjoy a good
dedication such as this one addressed to his friend and editor:
PASCAL COVICI
Dear Pat,
You came upon me carving some kind of little figure out of wood and you said, "Why don't you make something for me?"
I asked what you wanted, and you said, "A box."
"What for?"
"To put things in."
"What things?"
"Whatever you have," you said.
Well, here's your box. Nearly everything I have is in it, and it is not full.
Pain and excitement are in it, and feeling good or bad and evil thoughts and good thoughts-- the pleasure of design and some despair and the indescribable joy of creation.
An on top of these are all the gratitude and love I have for you.
And still the box is not full.
JOHN
apparently, when he finished his manuscript, he placed it in a wooden box which he had carved and presented it to Pascal Covici.
what a beautiful thing.
i don't mind winter at all.
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