Body-text fonts, pt. 41: Aldus

If you’re an Irish novelist publishing a masterpiece, c. 2017–2018, chances are, it’ll be typeset with Hermann Zapf’s Aldus.

Exhibit A (Sally Rooney):

Exhibit B (Anna Burns):

Edoarda & Stephen have returned from Dublin, Aberdeen, and Shetland (where Edoarda took grant-funded knitting lessons). I told Stephen I wanted a tree from Shetland; failing that, a jar of jellied eels, although that’s more of a Londoners’ food; failing that, a tabloid. Stephen found no trees, eels, or tabloids on Shetland. He did bring the July 4 issue of the Shetland Times. Front-page news: “Ponies Draw Crowds from Afar”; “Council Spends £2.4m on Agency Staff for Ferries.” The body text (Miller) is the smallest I’ve seen in any newspaper.

Some old, old, old favorites

For the boys, we put on Chitty Chitty Bang Bang – overlong but not devoid of charm. I wouldn’t be surprised if it were responsible for twenty-five to fifty percent of my anglophilia. Daniel is transfixed, and Samuel jumps up and down: he loves the old automobiles. One of the best gifts I ever bought him was a huge volume called The Complete Encyclopedia of Motorcars ($1 at a library sale). It is too heavy for him to gently carry around, and so, over the years, he has wrecked its spine. (Lately, Daniel has been tearing out its pages; he also ripped the front cover off a paperback that I received in the mail today.)

I once read Ian Fleming’s Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bang during a long car ride. The novel was disappointing. At least it is slim. The movie is 2½ hours long. Some of its musical numbers seem that long, all by themselves.

Tonight we don’t watch the whole movie. Instead, I put on Bugs Bunny: Superstar and we watch the first two cartoons. Samuel doesn’t know what to make of it. He’s a shrewder child than I was. Bugs Bunny may have unduly influenced my personality.

Edoarda & Stephen have acquired a puppy: Rembrandt (Remi). Last night we all went over to Mishawaka to meet him. He is still an excitable young beast.

The blizzard; a lean Christmas; a border crossing

So far, this hasn’t been such a formidable blizzard, although, surely, someone is suffering from it, and for all I know someone has died or will die; and it’s costing us a chunk of change because two nights ago Karin was in a minor crash in a snowy intersection. She had to pay the other driver; her own car’s headlight was smashed; and yesterday, she found out that her car was leaking steering fluid. This is one of those mishaps that it’s dismayingly hard to budget for. (This, and Jasper’s veterinary needs, which never fail to astound.) I have called this blog entry “A Lean Christmas,” although that isn’t really true: we already have bought our goodies, and our needs are met. It might be a lean-ish winter, though.

Edoarda & Stephen have traveled to Nicaragua, as they usually do at Christmastime; on this occasion, they flew to Costa Rica first. I understand that they walked across the border with their suitcases. It’s easier than having Edoarda’s family drive across from Nicaragua and then across again.

The U.S. snowstorm wreaked havoc upon their air travel. They spent a night in an airport terminal.

John-Paul: “Have you arrived in Nicaragua?”

Stephen: “Yes.”

Stephen: “After 30 hours of planes, (sky)trains, and automobiles.”

Stephen: “We left right before the storm got too bad in South Bend. The flight almost didn’t leave.”

John-Paul: “Mom & Dad told me about most of it. How was the Costa Rica-to-Nicaragua border crossing?”

Stephen: “Not bad. Took about 30 minutes total.”

Stephen: “But then … we left behind my carry-on.”

Stephen: “Here’s what I told Mom about it:”

Stephen: “‘I have some bad news. When we crossed the border, someone in the family took my carry-on. I heard people discuss where to acomodar it as I went in the truck, but it somehow got descuidado and left at the border. I lost most of my clothes that I brought, Edo’s Christmas present, and your copy of Shantung Compound. 🙁 I’m sorry.’”

John-Paul: “I’m sorry. It sounds like the border crossing in No Country for Old Men.”

Stephen: “Ha, not that bad.”

Stephen: “Just got back from getting some new clothes. I’ll survive.”

John-Paul: “I’m sure you are as well turned out as ever.”

Stephen: “T shirts and shorts.”

Stephen: “Some underwear.”

John-Paul: “Yes, go on.”

Stephen: “Socks.”

Stephen: “That’s it.”

Stephen: “I forgot to get some zapatillas.”

(Lightly edited.)

I have returned Stephen’s copy of Faceless Killers and am reading The Dogs of Riga, which is shaping up to have more snow in it.

The birthday boy

Happy birthday (yesterday) to Samuel, who is two. Here he flaunts his new German trainers, which his Aunt Edoarda & Uncle Stephen gave him.

He also got a set of wooden coasters from his Aunt Mary & Uncle Martin (when he visits their house, he plays with their coasters). … Dear me, if I try to list who has given what, I’ll leave someone out. I’d better just declare my all-extensive gratitude.

Other gifts: cleaning supplies (broom, mop, etc.); tools (hammer, power drill, etc.); clothes; greeting cards; books; pumpkins; candy; and cold hard cash.

We took him to two “trunk or treat” gatherings. Until this year, I was barely aware that people did this. Samuel wasn’t interested in collecting candy, but he did enjoy drawing with chalk in the parking lot.

For the record, he was dressed as a lion – not as a bear, as some 40% of his fellow “trunk-or-treaters” thought. Karin’s friend Nora brought her little daughter, Charlotte, dressed as Madeline. In that series’s fourth book, Madeline and the Gypsies, Madeline and her friend Pepito are forced to wear an old lionskin. Therefore, Samuel also was in Madeline costume. (I can almost feel the collective eye-roll. Well, this is parenting: one’s activities and cultural references become more childish. Before long, I’ll be finding meaning in Chuck E. Cheese.)

Or maybe he was Sam the Lion from The Last Picture Show.

Tonight the rain is heavy. Karin & I were in our basement, watching TV, when we saw one of our window-wells fill up with water (like the episode of Get Smart in which a flooded telephone booth almost drowns Max and Ninety-nine). Underneath the window-well, water seeped out from the wood panelling and onto the floor. We moved some boxes away from the deluge and resolved to seal up that window-well ASAP.

Brazil 2, Ecuador 0

The Brazilians labored, but their victory was never in doubt; clearly, they were the better team.

Although the result was just, the second goal was questionable. The VAR officials permitted Neymar to re-take a penalty kick because of a minuscule encroachment by Alexander Domínguez.

This greatly irked the Uruguayan commentators (who are as sober as any commentators I listen to). Throughout the game, they had lots of choice words about Neymar, which I appreciated. Afterward, I watched another hour of Uruguayan TV. What a good little country.

The Brazilians are massively talented, but as long as they continue to run 85–90% of their attacks through Neymar, they are doomed to lose against the best European sides.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

In Mishawaka, temperatures have been in the low nineties (F). We bought a garden hose and a kid-friendly sprinkler. The sprinkler is shaped like a fish; when water spurts out of it, it thrashes in a disturbing fashion. Karin & I showed Samuel how to run back and forth through the spray. At first, he stood just outside of its reach, yelling and waving his arms; eventually, he made a few passes.

Now the lawn is watered, and so it will be longer at the next mowing.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Edoarda & Stephen are buying a house at the other end of our block. Of course, we also intend to buy a house, and it probably won’t be right here; but it will be nice to live near them for a short time. And when my parents move into the house where we are living now, they’ll be near to Edoarda & Stephen.

In the meantime, Edoarda & Stephen are allowing me to use their new battery-powered mower. It’s quiet; but, on certain terrain, it’s extremely quirky.

The back porch; the back lawn; 1990s NBA

We’ve cleaned up the spacious, shaded, screened-in back porch, and I’ve been trying to spend time on it each day, out of doors but not really out of doors. Samuel is very interested in what he sees outside. Jasper and Ziva also like to explore out on the porch; I must supervise them, however, because Karin keeps a dahlia there, which is poisonous to cats.

On Saturday, we all gathered on the porch with Mary & Martin and Stephen & Edoarda. Each family stayed some ten feet from the others.

Then, on Sunday, I had to mow in the rain.

(It really is a soggy lawn. I understand why on Midsomer Murders the English are always wearing Wellingtons. Everyone says our tree looks like a willow, and then remarks that willows don’t usually grow away from water. I think there’s plenty of water.)

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

The outstanding documentary series of the quarantining period isn’t Tiger King; it’s The Last Dance, about the 1990s Chicago Bulls. I haven’t seen a single episode of The Last Dance – we don’t have cable – and yet I know it’s good because every day my Facebook feed is crowded with articles riffing on this or that point it raises. I’ve been inspired to rewatch quite a few old basketball games on YouTube. (Samuel likes them, too.) These are the three conclusions I’ve drawn:

(1) The Chicago Bulls were awesome (pick any year).

(2) The 1994–1995 Houston Rockets were awesome, though they didn’t win many games in the regular season. Hakeem Olajuwon was just tremendous: powerful and very smooth (and a crafty ball stealer).

(3) The 1997–1998 Indiana Pacers were as good as I remembered them (i.e., very good). Would they have beaten the Jazz in the final playoff round? I don’t know.

These impressions are borne out by two fine articles by Sam Quinn: one about the Rockets, and one about the Pacers.

Stir-crazy

We had our first visitors in a while: Edoarda & Stephen, who brought furniture for our basement. Of course, they didn’t stay long.

We had a brief visit, last week, from my Aunt Sally & Uncle Tim, who brought diapers and towelettes. Also, a church friend brought groceries, but he quietly set them on our porch and went away.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Karin goes to her office but rarely sees clients. She staffs the drive-thru and answers phone calls.

Excepting my brief hospitalization, it’s been longer than two weeks since I last went out beyond our driveway. I haven’t done so at all in the daytime.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Now is the time to turn one’s thoughts inward, to reflect that all the furniture of the universe is contained in the basement of the mind.

For Spotify subscribers who listen to the Orb:

Previously inaccessible tracks of The Orb’s Adventures Beyond the Ultraworld –

• “Little Fluffy Clouds”;
• “Outlands”;
• “Star 6 & 7 8 9”;

and

• “A Huge Ever Growing Pulsating Brain that Rules from the Centre of the Ultraworld”

– are now accesible.

La final del mundo

Today, I went to Stephen’s apartment to watch the last game of the Copa Libertadores – which, this year, is called “La final del mundo” by the Argentinian press, since the participants are the two most popular Argentinian clubs, River Plate and Boca Juniors. Stephen & Edoarda arrived at the apartment exactly when I did, just before the scheduled kickoff time. They’d rushed over from Chicago, into which they’d flown from Austin, where they’d spent Thanksgiving.

Well, they needn’t have hurried. Like the previous game, this one was postponed. Some fans of River Plate had thrown rocks at Boca Juniors’s team bus, breaking a window. Allegedly, the glass had cut one of Boca’s players in the eye, and his injury had been aggravated by teargas that the police had discharged.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

And so we watched for two and half hours while the Argentinian broadcasters speculated whether the game would be played today or postponed until tomorrow.

The fans remained inside the stadium.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

The air was thick with rumor. At first, Boca’s players were said to be eating steak sandwiches in their locker room, which suggested that they didn’t expect to play.

But then the kickoff was rescheduled for a slightly later hour. Fernando Gago and Carlos Tévez – Boca’s two most famous players – came out of the locker room to plead for a longer postponement.

The clubs’ presidents were said to be holding meetings with the presidents of FIFA and CONMEBOL (the South American footballing confederation). If they intended to postpone the game until the next day, why were they waiting so long to do so? Why were they allowing the fans to continue suffering inside the stadium?

Was Boca’s president urging River’s disqualification? Was he holding out for some lesser penalty, at least, such as a ban against River’s spectators?

It was suggested that the Boca player’s injury was less severe than the team was claiming. Yes, he’d been transferred to a clinic; yes, photos had been released of him wearing a gigantic bandage over one eye. Still, it was possible that he was feigning, as other players notoriously had done.

Moreover – and what was considered to be most ominous – CONMEBOL’s officiating doctor had refused to confirm the severity of the injury. (It was noted, however, that this doctor wasn’t an ophthalmologist.)

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Finally, the presidents agreed to hold the game the next afternoon. The fans left the stadium.

The president of CONMEBOL praised the collegiality of the two club presidents. He disavowed knowledge of the injured player’s precise medical state.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

It must be said that the main beneficiary of this scandal is CONMEBOL, which hopes to move the tourney’s final round away from the participants’ home stadiums and into neutral cities that would submit hosting bids.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Update, Sunday: The game has been postponed again. The presidents are to meet on Tuesday, at CONMEBOL’s headquarters in Paraguay, to negotiate further.

Karin’s birth week

We’ve celebrated as follows:

Last Saturday, we trudged around and around inside Thistleberry Farms’s Lord of the Rings-themed corn maze. It was none too easy. Toward the end, it became perilous: the sky darkened, and we only reached the exit fifteen minutes before closing time.

It was nearly as tiring as Frodo’s and Sam’s journey with the One Ring.

On Monday, we ate chicken wings with Karin’s dad and his two other children: Lily, Karin’s sister, and Julian, Karin’s stepbrother. It left Karin & me feeling quite poorly.

Wednesday was the birthday itself. We did very little. My parents sent a monetary gift through PayPal. Others sent Facebook greetings. I ordered an Agatha Christie book for myself.

On Thursday, Karin’s mom gave her some cash. Karin & I went to a used-media store and bought seven movies and one video game, Rugrats in Paris, which Karin played the rest of the night.

Yesterday (Friday), we ate Italian food with Mary & Martin and Stephen & Edoarda. When we got home, I ordered this puzzle for Karin:

Then the Mormons came over for a while. After they left, Karin played Rugrats in Paris.

Today, we’re going to buy some sale-priced frozen yogurt.

We aren’t Kardashians, but we’ve still managed to have a nice little week-long party.

Some visitors from Esmeraldas

Yesterday, Karin & I went to the movie theater. The movie itself cost $6 per ticket – the only good deal in the house. Two popcorns and two drinks would’ve cost about $20. Two bottles of water would’ve cost about $10.

And then, to add insult to injury, the drinking fountains in our section didn’t work. (We did find drinking water at the other end of the building.)

We settled into our seats. The previews were uninspired.

Clearly, the movie industry is in bad decline …

… except for the Mission: Impossible series, which just keeps on getting better and better, and whose latest installment we’d come to view. (It’s one of the comforts of my old age.)

Mission: Impossible – Fallout is the “Thundergun Express” of movies. Tom Cruise hangs from a cliff, and from a tall building. He jumps out of a plane – in a lightning storm. He pilots a helicopter – in a dogfight with another helicopter, over the Himalayas. And, in Paris and London, he runs, and runs, and runs.

It’s best viewed on the big screen, what Tom Cruise manages to do.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Afterward, we stopped by my Aunt Lorena’s & Uncle John’s house to borrow a book; and, lo and behold, who should be visiting but my Aunt Lorena’s own aunt and uncle, Amparo and René Bermúdez. It’s not often that I see people I knew in Esmeraldas, as a child.

We conversed in Spanish.

“How is Ruth?” they asked, referring to Mary, my sister. “Does she still have asthma?”

“No,” my Aunt Lorena said, “she has diabetes.”

“She has both,” I assured them. We all shook our heads.

“She exercises regularly and watches her diet,” I told them. “She’s in better condition than her brothers are.”

“Ah,” they said. “And little David, who wanted to play for Real Madrid?”

“Married to an hondureña.”

“And young Stephen?”

“To a nicaragüense.”

“And your wife, does she speak Spanish?”

“No.” (Karin later told me that she understood 25% of the conversation – and, yes, the, and other words like those.)

“With whom do you practice?”

“With no one.”

“You speak Spanish perfectly.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “For an esmeraldeño.”

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Before we took our leave, Karin & I went upstairs to greet my cousins, Annie and Vickie. Annie was in her bedroom with Johnny, her fiancé. Vickie was in her own bedroom.

After we talked to them, we came back down the stairs.

“Was Vickie in her own room?” asked my Uncle John.

“Yes,” I said.

“Annie and Johnny aren’t supposed to be in a bedroom alone together,” said my uncle.

“Well,” I told him, “you’d better go up there and drag them out.”

And then Karin & I left.

An inheritance

The snowstorm did hit us, and hard. Side streets were made impassable. Businesses, libraries, churches, and schools were closed. Every so often, we’d see people pushing their cars to release them from the snow; on one occasion, I had to push out Karin’s car. It was a pleasantly easy thing to do, due to my fat (I used to struggle mightily to push cars).

Karin has long desired for me to view Frozen with her. I had a different hope for this evening, but, what with this weather, I shall have to “let it go.”

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

My mother slept two nights on our cot. Then she moved to the house of Edoarda & Stephen (she’ll go to Martin’s & Mary’s next). All during her visit to South Bend, she’s been at the police station or on the phone, trying to recover her missing documents. She’s scheduled to fly back to Ecuador on Wednesday. If she can’t obtain a new passport by then, she’ll have to stay in South Bend at least another week.

She brought many of her dead father’s belongings to distribute among her children. Before she arrived, I had almost no fitting dress shirts; now, I have about ten. I also inherited a large photo of the Atshuara chief, Tsantiacu, which was propped up near my grandpa’s casket at his funeral. I remember having been affected to see that portrait. I think that my grandpa will be glad to be reunited with his friend, who gave up blood feuding for Jesus’s sake.

The funeral, etc.

On Friday, Karin & I rode to Kansas City in Martin’s & Mary’s car, arriving with them in time for the “viewing” ceremony. Grandpa looked very peaceful in his casket. He’d been laid out in one of his comfortable flannel shirts. I talked to many people, including a guy named Ryan with whom I’d gone to high school in Missouri in 1996. A member of the armed forces, he’d traveled virtually everywhere; he had much to tell me about Antarctica. Later, I introduced Karin to my grandma, but only briefly because everyone wanted to speak to her.

Afterward, I ate at a Waffle House, which I hadn’t been able to do since 2010. Then Karin & I spent the night in a well-wisher’s basement. M&M shared a hotel room with Ana & David and were attacked by bedbugs. Edoarda & Stephen, who’d used that room the previous night, also suffered bug bites.

The funeral itself was held the next day. Three hundred people attended (or so I estimate). I and the other grandsons bore the casket. I was reunited with Amber, a schoolmate from Ecuador who’s now a missionary to Papua New Guinea. Later, an old farmer from Duluth, Minnesota, questioned me about my dissertation. One woman learned that I’d studied philosophy and then asked if I believed in God.

On the whole, it was a grueling day.

The next morning, Karin & I got back into the car with M&M and rode back to South Bend, where we discovered that Jasper and Ziva had broken into their plastic container of treats and eaten the lot. The kitties were but little harmed: their treats aren’t very calorific. Jasper actually looks thinner now.

Today, some undetonated pipe bombs were found at a busy intersection near my favorite Vietnamese restaurant.

Snow

… has begun falling upon South Bend. A good few inches have stacked up. Trucks plow and salt the roads. When I go out walking, I wear two tattered, hooded sweatshirts – I’ve outgrown my winter coat.

It feels as if winter has been here all along.

Xmas gifts have been arriving through the post. I thank whoever sends them (my siblings and I are using the “Secret Santa” method). I, too, have been ordering gifts for my designated beneficiary.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

I congratulated Edoarda & Stephen for staying at home the last few wintry days. Stephen, who’s just had his wisdom teeth removed, alternates between viewing the TV, sleeping, and throwing up. Edoarda watches over him.

Karin & I visited E&S last night. We viewed the episode of The Office in which Steve Carell spanks his jackass of a nephew. That justice of that scene was most pleasing.

At my own office, the year is slowly, strenuously concluding. Yesterday, one tutee asked me to proofread seven pages – hardly an unusual request. But the next tutee brought in 14 pages, and then a third brought in 28 pages, single-spaced. Her expectations were too high. Each tutoring session should require 30 minutes or less. (And, besides, we tutors aren’t supposed to proofread – we’re obliged only to explain “patterns of error.”)

I suppose there are moments in every job when the worker questions the wisdom of his industry. I was far beyond that stage. I only wanted the suffering to end, and it did, several hours later.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Paolo Guerrero’s ban for taking cocaine has been extended until November of next year. Peru will miss him in the World Cup.

Meanwhile, the ban upon Emelec’s stadium has been rescinded (alas). What’s more, Ecuadorian TV companies have been forbidden from broadcasting the domestic finals – I’m not sure why – and the referees are threatening to strike for past-due wages.

How to turn down a request

“Edoarda, for my wedding will you please prepare the food?”

“No. I do not cook for the masses.”

New Year’s Eve

It’s the last week of the winter holiday. I’m sick. Worse, my thoughts have been woeful. But thanks to Karin, it hasn’t been a woeful year.

I’m grateful, also, to the Ecuadorian soccer players for winning all four of their World Cup qualifiers. Here are their goals, set to stirring music.

More of the same music.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

My “best of 2015” prizes:

Best Movie. This year I saw only three new movies: Minions, Ex Machina, and Paddington. Each was good in its way. But the award goes to Minions. The Best Supporting Actress prize goes to Queen Elizabeth II, of Minions.

Best Song. I haven’t listened to very many new songs (let alone albums). But clearly the best song of the year was “Hotline Bling.”

Best Music Video. “Hotline Bling” – there were many excellent videos of this track, but this one was the best.

Best Philosophy Book. Tom Hurka’s British Ethical Theorists from Sidgwick to Ewing. Fascinating. Breathtaking. One hundred years of insular reasoning, distilled with Hurka-l-ean effort.

Best Fiction Book. I’ve not read anything from this year. I started reading Slade House, but what with my illness, I couldn’t hold myself up against the blast of David Mitchell’s authorial voice. Maybe when I feel better.

Ana & David never came up from Houston; Edoarda & Stephen are in Nicaragua; Martin & Mary are going to a New Year’s Eve party. I await my Sweetie for a peaceful evening on the couch.

The return leg

On Sunday, we returned to Indiana. For lunch we stopped in hilly Hannibal, MO, at a Subway.

The after-church queue was too long. We pressed onward to a Wendy’s.

The Wendy’s was being remodelled. We retraced our steps to a KFC.

Edoarda ate mashed potatoes without any gravy. (She’s a vegetarian.) Suddenly, a crowd came in for the lunch buffet. Edoarda was a little startled. She’d never seen so many Missourians.

Martin also felt out of place. He noted that the people of Hannibal would likely go home to watch the Rams, not the Bears. (And not the Colts, either, remarked Edoarda.)

Mary was troubled by the country music. …

Stephen … I think he was mostly concerned about Edoarda.

Edoarda was doing just fine. She ate plenty of potatoes, and on the way out she picked up a brochure for tourism in Hannibal.

Leaving town, we took a wrong turn and drove around some of the hilly neighborhoods. Finally we made it onto the highway. We crossed the river into Illinois, and all at once everything was desolate and flat.

Around Joliet, my knee started hurting badly. My leg needed to be stretched out. Edoarda was sitting next to me, and so I asked her if I could stretch out my leg upon her lap. It was an indelicate request. Edoarda refused, and not just a little vehemently. Martin permitted me to rest my leg upon the center console.

And now we’re back in Mishawaka. The next order of business is to choose presents for our gift exchange.

The quadrennial car ride

“Story of the Week” from Library of America.

Martin showed me that website. It combines two of my greatest interests: literature and PDFs.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Thanksgiving upon us, we brace ourselves for a round trip to Kansas City. It involves two long car rides through featureless downstate Illinois. At least it should be a comfortable trip. We’re borrowing Martin’s parents’ SUV.

There is a Wendy’s that we like to stop at, outside of Hannibal. Or else we might go through St. Louis and Columbia, and gaze upon I-70’s “fine establishments.”

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

What worries me is how to choose the music. Some years ago I rode with David, and we took turns selecting playlists. It came out well. This year the other passengers are Martin, Mary, Edoarda, and Stephen: too many different wills. No matter what’s chosen, someone is bound to be dissatisfied. (Worse, I doubt we’ll agree upon an equitable procedure for choosing.)

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

I hope for cloudy weather, so as not to have to squint for hours.

In South Bend, today is the first day of noticeable snow.

More and more weddings

The raccoon went away during the night.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

David is in town for E&S’s wedding.

David: “I just passed my comprehensive exam. Now, all I have to do is write the dissertation.”

JP: “I just wrote a section of my dissertation. The section contains some nudity. I ask the reader to consider a thought-experiment about the world’s most famous clothing-optional swimming pool.”

David: “Um.”

JP: “I’m a character in the thought experiment. It goes like this.”

David (pretending to quote me): “‘Imagine me, nude …’”

JP: “No, no. I am not nude. But I am exposed to people who are nude.”

David (pretending to be a member of my thesis committee): “‘Your degree is withheld.’”

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

JP: “What book is that?”

David: “Ian McEwan.”

JP: “Which Ian McEwan?”

David: “The newest one, The Children Act.”

Martin: “Is he the writer of Atonement?”

David: “Yes.”

JP: “He’s also the writer of A Horrible Wedding Night at the Beach.”

(David chuckles.)

Martin: “Is that what it’s called?”

JP: “It’s called On Chesil Beach. But I call it A Horrible Wedding Night at the Beach.”

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Martin & Mary just got back from Florida, where Martin’s brother and Martin’s brother’s wife had a “destination wedding” on the beach. I stayed home and took care of Bianca. In homage to M&M, I bought Finding Florida, one of those liberal, revisionist histories about how awful the United States is. The prose is mighty good. The content is less than charitable (and, I gather, somewhat untruthful). I highly recommend it.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

E&S’s wedding is tomorrow.

Some houseguests

Today, my dad will arrive for Edoarda’s & Stephen’s second, larger wedding (August 8).

Edoarda’s family has been trickling into the town. We’ve been finding hosts for them.

Also, my mom got here last weekend.

On Monday morning, after I got out of bed, I went to her room. (I knew she’d already be awake.)

“Good morning, Mother.”

She was thrashing around a bit, under the covers. “Oh, I had such an awful dream!”

“What was it, Mother?”

“I went into the dining room and saw the dinosaur-rat. It was on the table. It was eating the food from people’s plates. It was drinking the baby’s milk.”

She was distressed. I was intrigued: the dinosaur-rat.

(Right now, there’s a frightened, young raccoon out in our yard. My mom and M&M are trying to shoo it away. We all feel badly, though; it’s very cute.)

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.