Okay, enough of this Shakespeare-reading pitch.
Today, I'm home alone again, finally, after a pleasant but noisy snow day: Paul listening to a recording of David Copperfield ("Oooh! That Uriah Heep is creepy!"), James trying to light a ballpoint pen on fire ("It's a science experiment!"), Tom eating popcorn and watching Last Year at Marienbad with the dog, me making lemon squares and wondering why I hate Last Year at Marienbad so much. It's certainly beautiful, but it's also amazingly boring. At first I thought maybe I'm just too trashy to appreciate the depths of pretentious French New Wave cinema. But then again, I do read Henry James. So what's my problem?
Anyway, back to editing and breadmaking; possibly a spate of Browning later in the afternoon, and who knows? I might write something as well.