Saturday, March 24, 2007 Eddie made me pancakes. Later the same day I ran into my neighbors, A & R, who have put up their house for sale. The price is $1,575,000, a lot more than what they spent when they purchased it some twenty years ago or so. They are moving to Amsterdam, where they tell me life encompasses more than the routine of work, dinner, television and sleep. They paint a portrait of bicycling to the store to buy one’s groceries or sailing on a canal in the evening on one’s candle-lit boat while nibbling on cheese and drinking wine or staying up late participating in the café society. It’s a small country, they said, and the government is not receptive to anyone moving there, but they are intent on making it work. That evening my mother and I had dinner at my sister' house. The postcard that recently arrived @ my place of residence, was the topic of conversation. How did a postcard addressed to Miss Cecilia Kelly of in 1909 suddenly find its way ninety-eight years later to the house she had lived in? Did Miss Kelly ever receive it? It seemed a bit of magic that touched us, and we were all in awe.