Garden update: An invisible hungry something is eating holes in my scarlet runner beans. This is unfortunate because each plant has only 2 leaves.
Boy update: Sleeping.
Book update: I am taking a weekend break from western Pennsylvania history and am reading Ford Madox Ford's Fifth Queen trilogy for the twentieth time. Note to my friends who are infatuated by stories with excellent language control and characterization (Mr. Hill, I'm speaking to you in particular): you'll want to take a look at this one and get back to me. This a spoiler, but I suppose you ought to know that the heroine gets her head chopped off. Still, if a woman agrees to marry Henry VIII, she can't really be all that surprised about such a turn of events.
Cooking update: I have baby rhubarb. I have new-laid eggs. Soon I will have a rhubarb custard pie.
Writing update: I finished a poem in the voice of old George Washington on a landlord tour of his Pennsylvania properties. That was an odd exercise. You should try it sometime. Or maybe try something even harder . . . like, say, impersonating Millard Fillmore. Go on: I dare you.
2 comments:
I confess I tweeted the link to your piece on Naipaul. It got re-tweeted quite a few times.
Really? For me, Twitter remains an unknown land. I worry it will increase my time-wasting habits, so I never have any idea about what might be happening there.
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