The remains of the May

A Texan whose birth was in Arlington
Read all about Stevens of Darlington.
The Remains of the Day
Was the name of the play
She perused on her Kindle, in Arlington.

I wrote this because I wished to test whether it would be easier to write a limerick or to write my dissertation. The limerick was much easier to write. One can put any nonsense into a limerick. (I am now testing whether it is easier to write a blog entry, or my dissertation.)

The Remains of the Day is my choice for Prof. Robby P.’s book club, which I’ve intermittently attended since 2004. Joel, my old schoolmate, has been going to the meetings, and so have Prof. Cristian (the Romaniac) and Prof. Uncle Tim. (Come to think of it, Joel may also be a “Prof.”; I’m not sure what his title is.) Morgan, Robby’s frisky black Lab, died some time ago, but he has been succeeded by two frisky, young, black Labs who jump all over everybody like Morgan used to. The other attendees are young women who recently studied at Bethel College.

This morning I read The Remains of the Day instead of going to church. Martin & Mary and I all took the day off from church. We have really been dragging our feet at the end of this school term.

On the couch

Long ago, a young, pretty girl was strolling through the forest. She was an oblivious sort of girl. She had lost track of the time; worse, she had lost the track, and did not know where she was. She was starting to feel hungry. She looked up to the sky for guidance; but the foliage was dense, and she could not see beyond it. 

Oh-so-hungry she saw, in a clearing, a little house with a thread of smoke curling up from its stony chimney. She tiptoed toward the house. She looked in through the window. The table was set for breakfast — but there were no breakfasters. The young girl made furtive glances through the window until she decided that truly no one was inside the house. It might be an enchanted house, she thought; perhaps that was why the food appeared so fresh. She climbed in through the window. 

On the table were three bowls of porridge: one large bowl, one medium-sized bowl, and a small one. There was no cutlery, but the girl had brought a spoon from Taco Bell …

(Karin chuckles.)

She tasted the porridge in the large bowl, but it was too hot. She then tasted the porridge in the medium-sized bowl. It was too cold. But the porridge in the small bowl was just the right temperature. The girl began to eat it. 

Little did she know, the house belonged to a family of three naked mole-rats …

(This, Karin can’t handle. She laughs and laughs and buries her face in my chest.)

The mole-rats had gone out for a stroll in the forest. Which was unusual …

(Somehow, this is even funnier. Karin laughs and laughs.)

The story peters out. I can’t remember what Goldilocks or the bears or the mole-rats are supposed to have done. “Let’s write a novel,” I say to Karin. “Let’s take turns writing the chapters.” She declines.

Another wedding

Yesterday, Stephen carried off one of my bookshelves, because it belonged to him. He took it to his new apartment. He’s living with Edoarda, who is his wife. (In a sense, though, they’re both continuing to live with M&M, because they keep on coming back to M&M’s house to watch TV.)

Edoarda & Stephen married each other last week, in a small ceremony. They’ll marry each other again in August.

I spoke about it, on the phone, to David. David told me that he intends to stop using parentheses in his prose.