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The All of It

Here we are at the end of August. Tomorrow will see the last post at the old Daily Blague (www.portifex.com/DailyBlague/). Happy as I am about the new Daily Blague (www.dailyblague.com/blog) - which is what I hope you're reading - I'm stung by the old leaving-school nostalgia. It is painful to outgrow things.

For my penultimate pointer, I've chosen a book that I read because I met the author herself, in the ophthalmologist's waiting room. She was a handsome matron in tweeds who asked me if I knew what the music playing on the radio was. (They play WQXR at Dr Odell's.) I did: it was Telemann's delightful concerto for three oboes and three violins. We fell into a conversation of sorts, with her doing most of the talking. I don't know how I captured the name of her book, because the doctor's office knew her under her married name, but after my exam I walked round the corner to Lenox Hill books, which was still going, and found a copy of The All of It. The clerk told me that it is a "favorite in the neighborhood" - the neighborhood being 10021, the city's ritziest ZIP code. (It's still going, too, but in much reduced form.)

The All of It.


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