Saturday, October 30, 2010

Shakespeare on Love


And there was another book, yesterday, that I left behind: a little gift volume called Shakespeare on Love, containing artwork along with snippets of his verse. The edition was a little tacky for my taste, all glitz and gold; but the inscription, signed by “Mom,” was as genuine as they come. She’d bought the book in Stratford-on-Avon for her daughter and son-in-law, or son and daughter-in-law, in memory of their wedding, and in giving it expressed the hope that the three of them would attend the theater there someday. She ended by wishing them the same happiness that had been so much in evidence on their wedding day in January 1999. Eleven years, almost. And a book that could easily outlast us all.


Update:
In the Forum: reading lists for the last three months.

6 comments:

Jean Spitzer said...

Lots of reasons I can think of for it ending up for sale. Including, it was a gift and we don't control what happens to them.

William Michaelian said...

So true. I, of course, with my tragic-melancholy disposition, tend to construct a darker scenario. But all is not bleak. For instance, “Mom” might never have gotten around to giving the book. Once many years ago, my father’s aunt, the one I wrote about a few days ago, bought a decorative gold dish to give to my grandparents for the fiftieth wedding anniversary. But as she was one of the greatest procrastinators who ever lived, she never got around to giving it to them. Finally, after they had both passed away, she gave it to my mother, and we have it now.

Jean Spitzer said...

I was thinking about this the other day: my mother and other women I have known who stockpile gifts, then forget about them.

William Michaelian said...

... and who even, in some cases, like the gifts so much they can’t quite part with them.... I’ve known some too.

Aleksandra said...

We say in Yugoslavia it is not to whom it was meant but too whom it was fated....

William Michaelian said...

I have heard that before. A wise saying....