Muskets and mockery

This weekend will involve trying to squeeze in studying between bouts of visitors. Tomorrow afternoon it seems, to our consternation, that half a dozen historical reenactment people are going to come by and leave their muskets in our house while they go for tea. Then tomorrow night, J.'s sister and niece will most likely motor on down from Vermont so that she can join us more easily on Sunday morning when we meet her (and, strangely, J.'s) parents for Easter services at their usual Episcopal chuch in Boston, something of a trek for them, but it is their only religious outing in any given calendar year.

Some tidying of the house is necessary before all of this happens, and foodstuffs must be prepared, and so on. Most likely there will not be time to make new Easter bonnets for the Folktales bat fingerpuppets (the old ones were destroyed by cats). That is regrettable.

I must continue editing that damn manuscript, but first, in the spirit of mockery and procrastination, I bring you:
( three more fake quiz results, plus one old one )

Vasiliki

I'm looking for an address in Basel while the musical stylings of Ms. T. Basil play on 80s internet radio. Coincidence?!

And I'd wager that the leftover lasagna I'm going to eat soon is flavored with the obvious herb. Assuming Buddy Cianci put it in his pasta sauce.

It seemed wrong, somehow, to open that jar, as though we should save it for the day when Mayor Buddy is once again free to walk among us and wear his toupee. But that would have meant going to the supermarket for a different brand, and you have to draw the line somewhere.