The passing of Gabriel Garcia Marquez has drawn me to seek out my treasured copy of One Hundred Years of Solitude, now yellowed with age. We too have aged, by some 33 years, a third of a century.
My copy is treasured because it is well travelled, fully seasoned and mailed to me by Gundi shortly after we had met on the train in
Louise. It found me on assignment in the Libyan
desert amongst a cascade of some thirty missives from Gundi that
could safely be called love letters. So many letters arrived all together, having
been misdirected and lost in transit for several weeks. (I had thought she had
Gundi’s inscription on the front pages reads: “Peter, this book goes out to you filled with fantasy and little yellow butterflies, enjoy it and remember…” I hadn’t realized the words that followed in the scrawl… until today, that is, when Gundi pointed them out to me. Fitting, heart-warming words to celebrate our life together, and the life of Gabriel Garcia Marquez, who dared us to fantasize and charmed us with magic, wonder, and little yellow butterflies.