Dear Marion,

It's all the fault of this inane computer that I haven't written to you. It is contemptuous
of even my most elegant prose, which it remorselessly causes to disappear at the mere
click of an errant mouse. I'll try again and see how far I get.

The circumstance that my minivan , its rear seat having been left behind in Belmont
is nonetheless packed to the windowsills and the tailgate, is responsible for the hiatus
in my work schedule which gives me the opportunity to write a letter, The past two and
a half weeks have been hectic. On Saturday, January 2, Margaret and I started out for 
Detroit. It puts me in peacock mode to report that I drove in a single day 763 miles
Through two snowstorms from Belmont to the outskirts of Toledo, OH. The next day,
Even though it was Sunday,  the building management provided us with keys to Margrit's
Apartment, and what we found there defies description. You'd call me a lying peacock
If I didn't have the photos to prove it. Not only the floors of the four room apartment 
were littered with letters, notes, bills, scraps of paper, ancient newspaper clippings, 
diverse magazines, advertisements, invitations, greeting cards. And not only the floor,
the tables, the chairs and the bed was similarly covered. It was necessary, literally
to establish through the debris a network of trails which one could negotiate without
slipping or stumbling. My first move: to take pictures of the chaos. In anticipation we had 
brought along fifty thirty-gallon garbage bags; we've used them all. None are left. 

The task, of course, to separate items of historical or legal significance from matters
Of no relevance.