'Tis true, if I had to write 50,000 pages, something more than Medflight would be called for. I must've been
drunk tired when I wrote "50,000 PAGES". I am here to tell you, I don't imagine I will live long enough to write 50,000 pages of anything. It is to SHUDDER!
Having said that, I will here report a hodge-podge, which is what seems to be roiling around in my brain anyway.
First - progress is being made on the Scarf in spite of all this writingness going on - and I have also gotten out the wool and needles to begin the first of a few toques ordered up. I would SO love to have it done by next weekend, but I'm not sure that's conceivable, what with being so close to the end of the Dr Who that it makes my eyes water....and this writingly thing.
Second - yesterday, being a very nice day, we drove down by Viroqua to collect Mr Dearling's 19th century suit, which was made for him by a lady skilled in the tailoring of 19th century apparel. The suit consists of a fine frock-coat (silk-lined), a very handsome vest, and a pair of pants. We were quite satisfied with it; he's actually looking forward to getting a shirt, shoes and a hat so that he can accompany me in my 1857 gown. But there was a little bonus to the trip!
Seems our seamstress had in hand two extra tickets for a concert being played right there in the tiny theatre in Viroqua, so we "had them of her"......occasioning the opportunity to hear (are you sitting down?) THE KINGSTON TRIO!
As it turned out, the house was packed and we were unable to sit together, but that was OK. I did get some pictures, and will post them anon. Now, this is NOT the original Kingston Trio; one of the troupe, Nick Reynolds, just passed away a few days back. But two of these fellows had joined from The Limelighters; they all three had excellent voices and their sound WAS the Kingston Trio. It was a good concert, I really enjoyed it.
NOTE: the average age of the audience members (and this is not hyperbole or exaggeration) was probably 75 - but by watching the reactions of my fellow audience members, I realized that many of them were "my era"; we had shared the Viet Nam experience, the Civil Rights movement, &c. Our seamstress said later that she'd only recognized two of the songs (she's likely in her 40s) but I knew every word of every song!
Gotta say, though: it was a very surreal experience. Closing my eyes I suddenly remembered what my dorm room looked like and remembered the name of the college chaplain, who was active in our Civil Rights organization (Al Currier). Opening my eyes -- well, I got a vision of nursing homes in my future.
And now, as I must get back to my writing, I'll leave you with a *funny*. Might I add, to those who may not know, one of Mr Dearling's endearing qualities (which are too numerous to list) is that he has, from time to time, a brilliant explosion of the kind of dry wit you only encounter a few times in your life. Here's the set-up:
I was looking up information online about sheep. (Silly you, of COURSE there's a sheep in my story! Also a cat! What were you thinking?) I found out the answer to my question (take notes: a wether is a castrated male sheep; I needed to know from "bellwether") AND I found out another neat fact. When I went to share, the conversation went like this:
ME: In Iceland there's a breed of sheep called "Leader Sheep"; they have a highly-developed sense of direction genetically, and are used to lead the herds. They've even been known to bring the herd down from a winter pasture ahead of a storm that the people didn't know was coming!"
Mr. Dearling: That's nothing! Those Leader Sheep are so smart, they train them to herd dogs!
Well, it cracked me up for about an hour, is all. Back to the novel.