Herewith is the story of what is arguably the strangest small world thing that has happened to me, possibly ever.
My husband works mornings on the west side of Manhattan in a community center, teaching English to adults. There is neither a school nor a library on site, though the Board of Ed rents out much of the space for after school and adult learning programs.
Today, while reaching for a book, he moved a book that was blocking it. It was THIS book, pictured below, published in 1972. It can also be found used on Amazon starting at $0.30 plus shipping. It has no reviews and I do not think it was a big publishing success. It was one of those books that a young girl of the early '70's would read after finishing all the Nancy Drews and Bobbsey Twins she could find.
Being a connoisseur of children's book art, he flipped through the pages and noticed MY NAME, in very neat script, on the front leaf. Since he has only known me since I was 25, he is not familiar with my handwriting from 2nd grade, and so called me and asked if the Make-Believe Daughter was a book I remembered. "No," I said, "I don't know that book."
He brought home (ie stole) the book, and sure enough, it was my book, my signature in the front flap. My mother can not remember donating it, or giving it away, or how it might have traveled from Queens to Manhattan and wound up in my husband's classroom but it has returned to me, for reasons I hope to learn in my dreams.