Vegetarian Superbowl menu: fresh pita, garbanzo and black-eyed-pea falafel, yogurt sauce, tomatoes, avocados; baby lettuce with roasted brussels sprouts; possibly strawberry shortcake.To keep my cultural chaos fermenting, I plan to read Ivy Compton-Burnett's The Last and the First during the dull parts of the game. Here's how the novel opens, and take my word for it: the flaying just gets worse.
"What an unbecoming light this is!" said Eliza Heriot, looking from the globe above the table to the faces round it.
"Are we expected to agree?" said her son, as the light fell on her own face. "Or is it moment for silence?"
"The effect is worse with every day. I hardly dare look at any of you."
"You have found the courage," said her daughter, "and it is fair that you should show it. You appointed the breakfast hour yourself."
Lady Heriot did not suggest that anyone else should appoint it.* * *
Perhaps, on Monday, I will return to my autobiographical musings; or perhaps not. I might be done with them. You might be done with them. Still, something remains to be said about music.
* * *
Tu Fu readers: Comments are accruing about the most recent readings. Please join in and respond to one another, if you are so moved. I'm not at all interested in controlling the conversation and hope that you will feel comfortable talking with each other about what you're seeing. Also, let me know if you're ready to move on to the next set of poems.