Dr. G. hasn't called to tell me what the ultrasound showed. So I'm hoping (1) he hasn't lost the pictures, and (2) they didn't show anything unusual.
I'm making one of these for my great-nephew--that is, I'm trying to make one. So when he's in a monster mood, he can be a Cookie Monster.
My exam yesterday went OK, except for the sitting around waiting for people and running back and forth in between. Had to go to the lab twice--I think they dropped my first four vials of blood. Dr. G. sent me for ultrasound of my carotid arteries, because he said he "heard something" in my neck; probably just a frog in my throat. And a minor condition I thought might be Something turned out to be Nothing.
All of that took so long (nearly 6 hours of sitting and running), I didn't even mention the warts on my forehead, lest I couldn't get home before dark. When the Checkout asked when I wanted my next appointment, I said 2012, but had to settle for January in the year of ten. I hate appointments. Even for something good, an appointment is like a great Gordian knot hanging over my head.
The worst thing (so far) about a med exam, is that it takes several days to recover my enthusiasm for participating in civilization. I just want to crawl under the bed and cease. But there isn't room under the bed or sofa, nowhere to hide.
Old Abe (my car) hummed along like a new Mercedes. I had forgot how pleasant it is to drive up and down the highway on a nice day.
Yesterday I read Redbird Christmas by Fannie Flagg, Nell's choice for our December book club meeting. It's a delightful little novelette, something like Steel Magnolias without the tragedy.
This week? Ooohhhh, get me another cup of coffee........
After tomorrow, it looks like fun though still hectic. Funny, cleaning the basement seems like fun compared to The Annual Physical. My doctor always tries so hard to find something wrong with me. And he never says anything like, "How amazing! You've got the body of a 40-year-old!" Which it wouldn't hurt him to do once every ten years or so.
But I do look forward to continuing to make Christmas presents--I'm planning on giving almost totally homemade stuff this year. Use up some of these drawers-full and shelves-full of fabrics and craft thingies. But today I can only walk up and down the hall in a dither. The dictionary says a dither is a nervously excited or confused condition. I may be confused, but definitely not excited.
If I had done the November novel thing, today I would have a new one. I'm going to do it in January, though.
Atonement is a good novel. When Briony was holding the dead French boy and the head nurse spoke gently to her, I was moved to tears. Finding at the end that this was the book that Briony wrote when she was old, I guess, explained why the first half dwelt in such detail on the English country garden scene. After that, the sudden plunge into the horror of the retreat to Dunkirk was riveting. Strange how every character was captured in a few words and made human from his creation, except Cecilia and Robbie, who both remained shadowy. This, too, I expect, is explained by Briony's knowing them only when she herself was a child.
36-0!
I would only just peek at the TV now and then until the second half, when it looked like I couldn't jinx them by watching. Totally gratifying, except for Saban walking around frowning and yelling like he was getting beaten over the head. What's wrong with that guy? Even post-game when he said he was happy, his eyes were rolling like something was gaining on him.
What a wonderful holiday we had yesterday! Sister Pat and niece India joined Jed and me for what Jed said was the best Thanksgiving dinner he could remember. Pat brought a delicious corn casserole that, for me, was the hit of the meal, and my sweet potato pie made by her recipe was OOOK. Jed's free-range turkey was a perfect fit for my oven, and cooked up to a gorgeous golden-brown color--and tasty? Mmm-mmm.
Jed also brought a new flat-screen TV and installed it in place of the one in the living room, which was still, to me, the "new one." (He said it was for himself, so that he doesn't have to look at lines and mysterious black boxes on the old screen; but I'm allowed to look at it, too.)
Today I sold a book (I Wonder As I Wander, Langston Hughes's autobiography), and the mailman brought me a new one (Atonement, by Ian McEwan). I've started reading Atonement, but haven't yet reached the nonboring part.
Jed went back to Atlanta this afternoon, after our sumptuous lunch on yesterday's leftovers.
*
Last night I dreamed about Robert Frost. I was at one of his lectures, and was talking with him before the program. I told him I had read all of his works and memorized some of the poems. "And what have you learned?" he asked. I had a feeling he meant what great wisdom had I gathered from his works, but I just recited a couple of his poems. He gave me a well-worn little book of them, about 8 inches high by 4 wide.
Bonnie O'Neal came to visit early this afternoon, and we talked until it was getting dark. Took a long time to catch up on about 30 years of hardly ever seeing each other. We've promised to get together more often, now that we live close together.
Tomorrow is poetry reading night at the Arts Council, and this time I'm going to remember to go! I've missed the meetings ever since early last summer. That is, I'll go if my car will start. This evening after Bonnie left, I noticed I had a nearly flat tire, and I eased up to the Chevron station, stopped by the air pump and figured out how to put air in the tire. Then when I got back in the car, it wouldn't start, so I had to beg a jump start--or got my favorite clerk to beg one for me from a guy he knew. When I got home, I cleaned the crud off the battery and sprayed the contacts with Pam (which is what the jump-starter said to do), then I started the car again and let it run for a while--with the garage door open; I didn't want that woman who lives in a little box up near the ceiling in my hallway to start yelling, "Carbon monoxide! Carbon monoxide!" My nervous state couldn't have stood it.
(Kat's cat--not my cat.)
*****
About Thanksgiving:
Jed's going to go a-hunting somewhere in the wilds of South Georgia and catch us a turkey for Thanksgiving. I told him if he'd catch it and clean it, I'd cook it (told him to make sure it's not too skinny). I also told him to save the tail feathers to make a feather duster; if the Depression comes (or continues), we'll be glad to have any such free household items.
We'll try to scare up some collards and cornbread, and maybe some hominy and a mincemeat pie, to go with the bird. So everyone who reads this blog is invited to drop by on Thanksgiving day and gnaw some turkey bones.
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Just to add a bit more beauty, this is an interior shot of Wells Cathedral in southwest England. We couldn't take pictures inside it when we were there; I found this online. Wells is a rather small cathedral, but a perfect jewel, the prettiest structure (at least inside) that we saw in England.
(But not quite as pretty as Kat's cat.)
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Finally but foremost, these represent some of my prayers for Vann and Susan:
Eat your heart out, Angela Lansbury.I caught up on my sleep today. All day. Four hours at a stretch. From 12:00 last night till 3:00 this afternoon. As soon as I catch up a few other things, I'll be all caught up.
The book club had a great meeting at the library yesterday. Ramey and Susan provided wonderful refreshments and fine hospitality. Peggy U. came, after being ill and missing the last meeting. Mary Anne was out, probably due to her shoulder injury. Nell was there, and she will host the December meeting at her fabulous home, on the 19th of the month. Can't wait to see all her decorations.
I wore my annual new dress to book club, because it's so comfortable and washes like a handkerchief. I've got three or four annual new dresses from former years that I've never put on; plan to wear them all next summer, as they're all pastel colors or light fabrics.
On The Ghost, book by Robert Harris: This man is one of the best modern writers you can find. The Ghost was sort of a political novel, a subject I would usually shun unless it was supposed to be on a par with All the King's Men. But I read it anyway, and found it really fascinating. Only the ending seemed a bit contrived or unlikely.
Also to remember: The Castalia auction is next Tuesday at 11:30 a.m., Nov. 18th, at First Methodist.
stroking the top of my head real hard? When Mom said I'd been tagged by a dog, I asked if it was that dog who was here this afternoon, the one they call Gretchen. The one I practiced my wildcat howl at. No, Mom said, it was another sweet doggie, with curly hair, one named Sophie. Humph. She said this Sophie had some questions I could answer if I feel like it.
8. Who is your best friend? Darcy was my best friend. Him I not only tolerated but allowed to get close enough to cuddle, when he wanted to. But Darcy has gone to the West Coast or Rainbow Bridge, one of those far-off places. Mom says I'm her best pal, so that's good enough for me.Of course, at the polls, the pen flew out of my hand and blackened that little Straight Party egg, as it always had, and I'm glad, I tell you.
Sen. McCain's speech sounded like a great sigh of relief; it was elegant, magnanimous and inspiring. Speeches like that throughout the campaign might have got him elected.
I'm even proud of Gov. Palin. As the musicians used to tell each other, "If you don't know the words, fake it!"
And proud of The Man!
*
A sad note: R.I.P. Michael Crichton.
(Celebrating because I don't have to do this again for a while.)
Hide Fox and All After
In the second scene of Act 4 [of Hamlet], we find Hamlet alone in a room in Elsinore, where he's discovered by Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. They have been sent to bring him to the King who's just been informed of the death of Polonius. After taunting them with their servility, Hamlet agrees to go with them, and, as they exit together, he mutters "Hide fox and all after." Footnotes tell us what we might have guessed, that this is the name of a children's game, the one we know today as Hide and Go Seek.
Why does Hamlet say this? What does he mean? He isn't saying it to his former schoolmates, nor to the audience. They won't know what he means any more than we do. From this point on Hamlet talks in riddles a great deal of the time.
In Hide and Go Seek the child who is "it" plays the role of a hunted animal, a fox if you will, who is sought by the dogs, the other children. To evade the dogs the fox must be silent and crafty. When one of the hunters tracks him down, the hunter becomes the hunted, becomes the fox, becomes "it." This is only a game, of course, so the role of the fox is more glamorous than just being a dog, thus there is competition to be "it." To be the best dog, the one who finds the fox the quickest, then to be the best fox, the one who can evade the dogs for the longest time--is the motivating force that drives the game. Hamlet is a prince, born to rule. Refusing to see himself as a victim, he finds a way to cast himself as a winner--in his own mind at least--one who can "outfox" the dogs.
Hamlet is no longer a child, but until now he has lived a pampered existence. Blissfully unaware of the murderous animal energies that drive the politics of his father's court, he has, like Prospero, spent his life immersed in books and things of the mind. It has taken his father's murder to awaken him to the realities of power politics. Unwilling to believe the ghost without strong evidence of his uncle's guilt, he sets a trap, a play, to determine the truth. This works, yet it also puts him in serious jeopardy.
Once Claudius knows that he knows, Hamlet, formerly just an irritation, has become a deadly threat. Further, by killing Polonius, Hamlet has given his uncle a legitimate reason to get rid of him. Suddenly, for the first time in his life, he needs to get the hell out of his intellectual ivory tower and engage on the level of animal energies with all his wits about him. Knowing how fear can paralyze action, to encourage himself he summons up a game from his childhood, so that he can act freely, with the elan of a child at play. Thus it is to himself that he speaks when he murmurs "Hide fox, and all after."
Hamlet, Prince of Denmark is full of clues about the author, but these have led nowhere since there's nothing to be found in Stratford. There was no prince in Stratford, living in an ivory tower. This author felt safe in childhood, and what does he do as an adult? How does he deal with the cruel realities of life? He plays. He plays the lute, and he writes plays, in which, as in children's games, the victims rise when the curtain falls and the show is over to play again the following day in a world of make believe. This author was a man who felt powerless in the real world, but who found his strength and power in the world of the theater, the world of play.
The fox is safe as long as he remains hidden. There is nowhere Hamlet can hide his physical self from the King and his henchmen. But what he can hide are his intentions. From now on, Hamlet, who is of an open disposition by nature and inclined to reveal his feelings, hides them behind a mask of foolery.
Like Hamlet, his author too hides himself behind a mask--the one we call "Shakespeare."
By Stephanie Hopkins Hughes, The Shakespeare Oxford Newsletter, V. 43:#1, Winter 2007, pp 1,3.
That's the title of a collection of poems by Stanley Kunitz. I think it's one of the neatest titles, or lines, I've ever seen. It beats "There is no frigate like a book" all hollow.
One day last week, I received my copies of the ASPS Sampler. They printed my poem about the apple tree. I had completely forgot about the fall meeting; it was October 25 (Saturday) in Trussville. I guess it's just as well I didn't go; I had entered only one poem, and have not received a notice or prize, so apparently it didn't win even an honorable mention. I can't understand what's wrong with that poem; it won second prize in a national contest (NFSPS), but Alabama won't give it the time of day. Oh, well.
This morning I've been working on my office, trying to get it cleaned out and reorganized. At least I've got rid of all the papers, magazines, books, coffee mugs, old sandwiches and chicken bones, etc. (just kidding) that were piled on the round table. Now I'm looking at turning it on the side to get it out the door, and finding that I'll have to take the legs off anyway before rolling it into the kitchen. So what will I pile papers on when that's out of here? I'll think of something.
...but the toys and the candy remain. You could count all my trick-or-treaters on one finger. She was a beautiful little fairy princess, about Reed's age.
A Swap Package from Dawn, with treasures too numerous to name. Highlights are a wonderful fabric Halloween book, stickers galore (monsters and witches and vampires), a Michael's catalog, a fabric pumpkin pin, and lots of flowers, candles, and creepy creatures.
I'll hang it on the front door Friday evening.
If I can just keep my claws out of the candy jar.
Today I've eaten two bananas and a tomato. So for dinner I'm going to treat myself to a big old Matlock-chokin' hot dog.
My baby sister and I, out of boredom and nervousness, went to the thrift store. Sister found some beautiful items, including a nice green sweater for me. I went more or less wild over the blue-checked plates, the Vietnamese vase and the wacky book in the picture. I found three more books that I wanted to read, although they don't play very big on Amazon Marketplace.
Jed phoned last night; he's in Tampa, Florida, voluntarily working for a political campaign.
Those blue plates recall the feeling of my young days, before I was married. If I had found them in the stores, I would have chosen them for my "everyday" china. They're ironstone, made in Japan, so they were probably in production that long ago. Japan has no doubt found more profitable things to produce these days, although they made some of the most beautiful dinnerware in the world. All that exquisite Noritake china.
I had to get up "early" to pack a book and get to the P.O. by 11:30, so the busy morning has got my pulse to beating and my eyes fully opened. Maybe today I'll finish some of the projects I've got going.I'm still enough of a curmudgeon about faulty grammar, that I wouldn't use it in formal writing. But "hopefully," used conversationally with the intention of meaning "it is to be hoped that," strikes me just right. It's like hitting a nail on the head with enough force to drive it straight home.
When I wrote that "hopefully," the squirrel recovered, I meant that I had reason to hope that she got well. But what the words really said was that she recovered and was hopeful during the process. Now, what idiot would project human emotions onto an innocent wild creature?
Of course I didn't mean what the words said. That's like saying I placed a candle on either end of the table; can't you see me running from one end of the table to the other, trying to decide which end to set the candle on? And that brings up ending a sentence with a preposition. Damn.
Anyway, as a speaker, I endorse the word "hopefully." As a writer, I eschew it with all diligence. Except when writing dialogue.
This is a story about a big squirrel, one of the elder ones in my trees. It happened several weeks ago, and I hesitated to say anything about it, lest people think I was lying in my teeth. I've also been looking around for dead squirrels on the ground or in the street around my place, but haven't seen any since the Happening. So hopefully she/he recovered from whatever it was.
I opened the deck door to let Mo out, and saw furious movement out by the chipmunk stump. Ran and got my binoculars instead of running out there, and it was this big squirrel having some kind of a seizure. She (I swear!) did back flips, and then she would run back to a certain spot and then start whirling around and turning flips in midair. After a few minutes, she managed to get to a tree trunk and ran up the tree.
I carefully marked the spot that she kept running back to between aerobatic flips, and after a while I went out there to see if I could see anything. Was sort of afraid it was a snake or something. But all around under the trees out there, were these awful-looking, spiky, dried-up skeletons of some kind of huge mushrooms. They looked like big clumps of doormats that had lost all their threads and left the fiber sticking up all over. I sort of believe that the squirrel had eaten some of this mess and had the psychedelic contortions because of it.
Now that I've written it down, maybe it'll quit bothering me.
I got a bee in my bonnet, and put an egg in my biscuit dough. Didn't know how they'd turn out--cake, maybe? But they made the most perfect biscuits I've ever made--and larrupin' good, with or without orange marmalade!
Received an email from NaNoWriMo saying, "Don't make us come and get you!" So I went ahead and signed up to participate again. And, I'm going to have to have a yard sale next Saturday to get rid of stuff I've stripped out of the rooms and have nowhere to put. Sounds chillingly like last November, when I got so sick with the epizeutics or some-thing. And fell in the basement and bruised myself all over. I don't plan to do that this year, unless someone beats me up at the polls.
Isn't this clear cool weather wonderful?
This morning I did laundry, and listed and repriced a bunch of books. I also washed and froze a HUGE sale package of chicken tenders, in eight smaller packages. Now the freezer has steak, pork ribs, chicken, whole wheat burger buns, and an unopened sack of blueberries. So I'm all set for Great Depression II, as long as it doesn't last more than 2-3 weeks.
This afternoon I WILL finish the Hallowe'en thing, and work some more on the painting. That reminds me of a poem, "Walt Whitman's Nose," only I haven't written it yet. Why do old people's noses get so big? Well, of course. It's because of all the lies we've told. Lies turn into cartilage (sp?).
Wednesday was the deadline for mailing the Hallowe'en swap packages. Can't wait to get mine. Hope it has some candy corn in it. The one I mailed didn't have any candy of any kind, so I probably won't get any either.
Tomorrow the LHS Class of 1953 will have its year 55 reunion. I hope she never reads this, but whoever wrote the invitation said that we will also meet Sunday morning for breakfast at the "Crackle Barrel."
Added at 5:45 p.m. My cosmos that I planted at the foot of the steps is full of blooms and buds, but something broke it down last night. Whatever it was left two pecans on the step, so I guess that's payment enough.
It's easy to overdo it. For dinner I fixed the honey bourbon beef brisket from the Atlanta store; it was already cooked and sliced, all I had to do was thaw and heat the beef and the sauce. Mo and I ate until we were groggy, then went to sleep on the sofa and just now woke up.
A nap after dinner really is a good idea, because when you wake up, all you want to do is go back to sleep, which I aim to do in a few minutes.
Tomorrow is book club meeting at the library. I spent part of today reading a 20-page excerpt from The Story of Edgar Sawtelle that I found on the internet. I may have to buy a copy of that book, because I want to read the whole thing again. The excerpt was from the early part of the book, and in it, Gar (Edgar's father) stepped out of his truck into the sunlight and seemed to Trudy to shimmer in the light--as his ghost much later shimmers to Edgar in the rain.
The book I'm reading right now is Imperium by Robert Harris, a fictional biography of Cicero by his slave/companion Tiro.
In a way, reading such excellent books discourages me from writing, because I know I can't measure up to top-notch literature. Edgar Sawtelle was Wroblewski's first novel. He was writing what he knew (dogs) on a preset plot (the plot of Hamlet). So why can't we all do that? Maybe because we all don't know anything as well as the best writers know their subjects.
At any rate, I'm going to try again--that is, write another November novel this year. Just three weeks away.
When I woke up this evening, I had a book sale--the first in exactly three weeks. Made five bucks!
Yesterday I mailed the Halloween package to my swap partner. I don't know why I've been putting an apostrophe in Halloween. Anyway, I've got one more project to finish, and then we'll see if I close up the sewing machine or start on something else.
I was watching Titanic for the umpteenth time, and they took it off TV in the middle of the film, to show the Cubs-Dodgers game. I like baseball, but not when I'm too tired to do anything but watch Titanic. Have been sewing all day. Seems like once I've got started, I keep thinking of things I want to make, and things I started years ago that I want to finish.
to wear around the house on days like this, when I hit the floor working on something and find myself, at 4:00 in the afternoon, still in my night garb. Winter pajamas are too hot, and they worry me around my neck. Summer pajamas and gowns are too short and, for some reason, always have buttons missing, and the ones I have are too skimpy for my voluptuous figger anyway.Yesterday I finally gave up and pitched the Hallowe'en swap project into the trash and started over. But it's now going fast, and it's going to be tres jolie. I keep learning this lesson over and over: Short-cuts waste time instead of saving it.
*
The deadline to file for the IRS stimulus check is October 15. I've been reluctant to file, for fear the govt. would have to borrow another 300 bucks from China. But on the principle that, as far as the national debt is concerned, "returning were as tedious as go o'er," I'll probably put in for my pittance.
At this point, the feeling is mutual. I've been working on my swap project for days. I thought it would be done in no more than 3 days, but woe am I! The more I measure, the more off it gets. It's probably going to turn out looking primitive instead of nice. At least it was fun planning and cutting out.
YYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
I did have some boiled corn-on-the-cob for dinner, and a bowl of spinach with melted cheddar on top. Ate the last of my Friday soup (really, a thick leftover stew) Sunday, and wish I had some more.
*
Here are my Hallowe'en project materials. Already had more than I could use, but I had to go to Wal-Mart today, so of course I bought some more. Tomorrow I expect it to be at least half finished.
*
I saw Bonnie Ann at Wal-Mart. She had just got back from a vacation. What is a vacation? I went to the Oxford convention in D.C., I think it was 2005; maybe that was a vacation. But I really can't think of any place I'd rather be than here. Come to think of it, Jed and I discussed going to Mexico, last time he was here. We might possibly do that. But we'll have to do it in October, because I'm going to write another novel in November. This time, I'm going to take my time, ignore the deadline, and make it complete enough that I can submit it somewhere without spending a year trying to make myself rewrite it.
I don't know much of anything to write about today.
*
I signed up for Susan's Hallowe'en swap project, have received the name and address of the person my project will go to, and have selected a whole pile of fabrics to work with for the main gift. The whole pile won't be used, just the ones that fit my design.
*
The picture has nothing to do with anything, except that it's one of the most attractive things in the house. It makes me want to write a poem. It makes me want to paint a picture. I may try to paint something like it, once I get into the groove. The standing Indian reminds me of Daddy, and the kneeling one of Henry Whitner.
*
I wish I had a recording of that old Tommy or Jimmy Dorsey tune (In the Groove). Can probably find it online.
Finished reading The Story of Edgar Sawtelle today, but I'll save my appreciative comments about it until next month's book club meeting. I will say that I was nearly halfway through it before I realized what I was reading!
What I missed by reading: Today I meant to finish mucking out the stables (a.k.a., the basement), wash all my dirty clothes, and preliminarily (word?) sketch the Whitman painting. I have started the painting; the canvas is clamped onto the easel, with placement lines penciled all over it. I think I'll unclamp it and sketch in the basic form.
Last week I re-covered the seats of these two chairs. I love toile.
Book club meets this afternoon at the library.
I would start the Walt Whitman painting this afternoon, but Maw Maw always said, if you start something on a Friday, you won't finish it.
since I stayed up all night to finish reading a book (Nineteen Minutes). But I couldn't help it. Now I've read two books by Jody Picoult, and know that she's a great writer and has a great hairdo. But I'm giving everybody fair warning: I'm not reading any more books built around children or animals getting killed or otherwise traumatized. And there's still The Story of Edgar Sawtelle in front of me before I can totally swear off of them. Just don't hand me any more.
And now I've got to go to the store and the post office early so I can come back soon, feed Mo some more, and sleep.
Under the Music Link, I've added an old lady, a long time ago, singing her version of "Sourwood Mountain." I've never seen or heard two versions of it that were alike. This one has just a bar or two of the tune I know, but it's all messed up. Here's my version of the words:
Roosters crow on the Sourwood Mountain,
"Hi de ho, dee deedle-um day!
So many pretty girls, I can't count 'em!
Hi de ho, dee deedle-um day!"
Old man, old man, I want your daughter--
Hi de ho, dee deedle-um day!
To cook my bread and tote my water,
Hi de ho, dee deedle-um day! **
I've got a girl, lives up in the fletcher-- **
She won't come, and I won't fetch her! **
I've got a girl, lives down in the holler-- **
She won't wait, and I won't foller! **
I've got a girl who's a brown-eyed daisy-- **
But she won't work, and I'm too lazy. **
Big dog barks and little dog bites you-- **
Big girl sparks and little girl spites you. **
My true love's a blue-eyed daisy, **
If I don't get her, I'll go crazy, **
My true love lives up the river, **
A few more jumps and I'll be with her, **
Roosters crow on the Sourwood Mountain,
"Hi de ho, dee deedle-um day!
So many pretty girls, I can't count 'em!
Hi de ho, dee deedle-um day!"
Old man, old man, I want your daughter--
Hi de ho, dee deedle-um day!
I'll chop her wood and tote her water,
Hi de ho, dee deedle-um day!
*
For those innocents who don't know, "sparking" was the same as "courting." Men used to clean up to go "sparking."
* 
I've sort of learned how to make videos with sound, with my camera. If I ever learn how to get one onto the blog, I'll treat y'all to one verse with the tune. I remember Paw Paw singing snatches of this. The actor James Cromwell reminds me so much of him, if only J.C. were not so cool, clean and white! Paw Paw wasn't dirty, but he was burnt-copper colored and warm.
Jed came over on Sunday and stayed until late Monday afternoon. We ate lunch at Chili's on Monday, then shopped at Target and Michael's. I bought myself a bunch of oils and acrylics.
Jed brought me a new memory card for my camera, also a couple of stretched canvases that he said he'd had "lying around." I didn't ask any questions. He also brought three of his books: the Derek Robinson that I want to read; Beethoven by Edmund Morris, and the book about Cicero, both of which I want to re-read. Sarum has about worn me out; if I don't finish it before the weekend, I'm going to abandon it. Too many words.
Books read in September 1998:
The Rest of Us (column), by Jacquelyn Mitchard (Very good.)
The Best Laid Plans, by Sidney Sheldon (Good story, indifferent writing.)
Poetic Meter and Poetic Form, by Paul Fussell, Jr. (Worth re-reading.)
