It doesn’t matter that twelve days isn’t so long. A lot can happen in that time. Consider the following: on the twelfth day of Christmas my true love sent to me twelve drummers drumming, eleven pipers piping, ten lords a-leaping, nine ladies dancing, eight maids a-milking, seven swans a-swimming, six geese a-laying five golden rings (each), four calling birds, three French hens, two turtle doves, and a partridge in a pear tree. You know what happened in the lead time. I am hopeful that I can get a complete draft done, edit it, and turn in the polished version of my thesis before the twenty-eighth.

It stopped raining. I almost wish it hadn’t. Perhaps this is safer for my orange sherbert freeze, on its way directly from the Brigham’s in Bellmont courtesy Susannah, J.D.

A week ago I threw a pumpkin into the river. It had a hard time negotiating between up- and downstream. The current, you see, is not very strong where I live. That’s not to say I gave the cucurbitaceous* little guy any help. I have to believe he’s made his way out to the ocean by now. Either that, or the river rats got him. [shudder.]

*Diana knows this word even when she’s so drunk she doesn’t know her own name. Here’s to Harvard-Yale; Diana, this one is for you.