Found it.

I spent more time that was logical (and certainly more than was available to me) scouring back and forth over my shelves and rummaging through boxes looking for this book. Since I couldn't find it on my shelves, I became convinced that it had been stashed away in one of the many boxes of books that we packed when we remodeled - many of which are still waiting for shelves so that we can unpack them. But when I decided that I really couldn't finish work on this column without finding the book, I opened all of the remaining (approximately 12) boxes of books and rifled through them. I found lots of things I was happy to find, but not the book I was looking for.

In the end, it was, as was to be expected, a case of having my fingers in too many pots. Only after reaching the conclusion that I wasn't going to find the book did another, this time correct, possibility present itself. There I was, scratching my head, trying to figure out why the book wasn't in any of the places where I had expected to find it, when I realized that there was yet another possibility. A couple of months earlier, I'd taken it with me to work to show to a colleague, to suggest a possible future project. Sure enough, it was stashed away in one of my drawers there.

Go to: Poetry is where you find it, or
Go to: Spamming me softly with his song