Wardrobe Wanderings

I have curious streak, I'll admit it. When I was little I thought being a spy would be the coolest thing ever. Harriet was my hero. I even started a neighborhood club, with me and the kid next door as the only full-fledged members. Our operating base was located in a storage room in my garage. Matthew and I were skilled climbers, let me tell you, and we got into a lot of highly patrolled territory...like the neighbor's backyard.

I guess I never outgrew that streak, and it's a good thing, too, because if I had, I wouldn't have found a dear friend.

While down at my Grandpa's condo in San Clemente a few weeks ago, I conducted a thorough investigation of the closets and drawers. To my delight, I found several books that belonged to my Great-Grandmother Dora.

There he was, dear old Longfellow, long forgotten, long forlorn, in the dusty upper shelf of the hall wardrobe. The gold lettering on the 1893 copy still caught the light against the dark green cover.

I opened him up and began to read.

Well put, my good fellow.