Ich am a gentil harlot and a kynde

[rolanni]

So, today was Steve's day to read the redrafted manuscript (and also to make dinner -- chicken, mashed potatoes, and asparagus -- yum!). While he did that, I puttered -- laundry, dishes, cat grooming, boxing up books in the basement.  Honest to ghu, we've gotten rid of a truckload of books; I can't figure out why we still have so many.  Mind you, these are the basement books.  We still have the books in my office, the books in the bedroom; the books in Steve's office; and the books in the living room.

Oh.  And the cookbooks.

Well.  At least I have a couple of epiphanies with regard to the work-in-process to show for all this goofing off.  Including -- duh! -- if you have a. . .

Um.

Well. . .no.  I can't tell you that, can I?

Well, I can tell you that -- err. . . nope. Not that, either.

Oh.  Well.  Just take it as given that I had a very productive day.

For fans of Chaucer, Middle English, Old English, and even older -- or odder -- English -- young Geoffrey Chaucer invites us all to a celebration of  languages on April 15:

Yn thys celebracioun we shal reade of oold bokes yn sondrye oold tonges. We shal singe olde songes. We shal playe olde playes. Eny oold tonge will do, and eny maner of readinge. All are welcome. We shal make merrye yn the magical dreamscape of 'social media,' and eke, yf ye kan do yt, yn the 'real worlde' too.

For more information, follow this link.

And that?  Is all I've got.  Oh, except that the guy down the road -- yeah, that guy -- is setting off fireworks.  I'm trying to work up some sympathy for him, poor guy. It's been so! dern! cold! for so long, the flames froze on the fuses before the rockets went off.  He's been months without fireworks. . .

Naw.  Not working.

Anyhow, that's all I've got.  Tomorrow will be brainstorming and role-playing and note-making, then -- back to work!

Hope everybody is having a delightful weekend!