And now it’s Thursday, and I’m dead tired and wracking my brain for something to say because it will not do to miss three days in a row. It’s not like they were uneventful days. Stuff happened. I went places. Things got done. Fun was had.
Still, I’m having trouble marshaling any of it into what might be called a narrative. So I’m going to fall back on a standard and relate something my niece said. Mainly because my parents really like getting to hear this stuff. Think of me as the family archivist. (Also think of me as flawed, for a number of reasons, but here because I may not have remembered her whole spiel accurately. It’s representative. The bit about the cup is right, though.)
“I want to travel with you on a train or in a cup with milk and then we fly and go down a slide and it says ‘mew, mew’ and I take Orange Kitty!”
“Please never stop talking.”
When Clementine woke in the morning, she found the typewriter sitting beside the bed, regarding her with a solicitous tilt of the return bar. There was a piece of paper in the roller, and with a groggy sense of bewilderment she read:
I COULDN’T HELP NOTICING THAT YOU WERE HAVING SOME TROUBLE. PLEASE FORGIVE MY PRESUMPTUOUSNESS, BUT I’VE FINISHED YOUR MANUSCRIPT.
Amelia wilted down the beach, bored with herself. She needed a change. She was sulky, sludgy. Perhaps, she thought, she should change her hair. She was almost positive her hair hurt. Yes, that would help. She stopped and looked out to sea, shading her eyes against the glitter on the water. Did she see…was that something moving towards her? A black spot on the horizon was steadily flinging itself in Amelia’s direction. As it grew closer, she could almost make out…it was! It was a man’s bowler hat! It was so sharply black that it looked like a hole in the air. As it sailed closer, straight and true towards Amelia’s shapely head, she could feel her future changing. Everything would be different now! She would be dapper, instead of diaphanous. She would be decisive, incisive; she would snap her fingers at people and they would take notice. She would take charge, she would – suddenly there was a flash of golden fur and Amelia got a faceful of damp sand. Henry flung himself in front of her, and snapped the hat out of the air right in front of her. Landing on the sand with a soft plop! he tossed the hat in the air, and tapped it into place on his head with one jaunty paw. Damn that dog! His sartorial greed, his elastic hind legs.
Twenty-five got into a scrap with Fifty because Fifty said he was worth two of him. They went five rounds until Twenty-five knocked Fifty down a peg and took himself off and now Fifty feels like half a man.
Excellent things I’ve had to type to confirm various internet requests:
2 1/4 reduce
Update 1/3. Best one EVER: a-cussin hereby