So on the morning of April 1st, all the boys discovered what looked like giant flies or rat droppings in the mouths of their tubes of toothpaste. And thus, disgustingly, began the month of April.
Turns out they were raisins, not some horrifying manufacturer's defect. To quote Christopher, "Ach. I brushed my teeth with raisin juice."
Had Jon not been running late, he would have noticed that the cereal bags had been switched in all the boxes, so that eaters expecting chocolate-flavoured Wheetos were instead favoured with something resembling twigs and bark fragments. Nummy.
As it was, it wasn't until the next morning that he discovered that the milk had gone off . . . pink. Christopher's little addition, apparently. Oy veh!
What happened at your places last week? Anything funny?
Shout-outs:
all: Riley thanks you. He really is coming along with the ghee-tar.
kr: will call you tonight. We're interested, price being right.
barnwellians: good times. Watch this space: maybe we'll get operatic sometime just for you.
ec: it would never work between us.
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Jean Leon Gerome, 1879
or, Travels With My Giddy Aunt, wherein the authors discuss their adventures, misadventures, shocks, surprises, disappointments, hopes, dreams, nightmares, complexes, successes, environs, travels, gaffes, faux-pas, and hairstyles for the benefit and pleasure of loved ones near and far, and for voyeuristic strangers that make them slightly nervous.
The Call to Prayer
Jean Leon Gerome, 1879
Call To Prayer (Adhan)
Lente, lente currite noctis equii: (Allahu ackbar!)*
Given its head, the night runs faster than a man can breathe
Its nostrils pant, its dusky edges heave,
And I am pulled from sleep too soon:
The yellow tones of morning and the morning song
Too early crowed, but not in the cock’s throat.
The call to prayer comes early:
“Our alarm clock,” quipped a friend,
Indicating the humble mosque at his front door.
We have one, too. We all do in this garden city,
This oasis overrun but not yet ruined,
And the mosque, with its staggered chorus
Of muezzin, fairly owns us, night and day:
There’s hardly time to leave off praying my litany of regrets
From a day spent seeking more help than I had given
Before I’m called back to my knees.
I do not join the sweated worship of the immigrants,
But I think of prayer far more here than ever before,
For God is great indeed, and it is better to pray than sleep,
Even if all one does is pray to sleep a little more
Before the panting night is stabled, brushed, and fed,
And the mu'adhdhin clears his rooster throat.
Its nostrils pant, its dusky edges heave,
And I am pulled from sleep too soon:
The yellow tones of morning and the morning song
Too early crowed, but not in the cock’s throat.
The call to prayer comes early:
“Our alarm clock,” quipped a friend,
Indicating the humble mosque at his front door.
We have one, too. We all do in this garden city,
This oasis overrun but not yet ruined,
And the mosque, with its staggered chorus
Of muezzin, fairly owns us, night and day:
There’s hardly time to leave off praying my litany of regrets
From a day spent seeking more help than I had given
Before I’m called back to my knees.
I do not join the sweated worship of the immigrants,
But I think of prayer far more here than ever before,
For God is great indeed, and it is better to pray than sleep,
Even if all one does is pray to sleep a little more
Before the panting night is stabled, brushed, and fed,
And the mu'adhdhin clears his rooster throat.
Copyright JaPes, 2007
*"Lente, . . . ": "Slowly, run slowly, ye horses of night!" (from Christopher Marlowe's Tragicall Historie of Doctor Faustus); "Allahu ackbar!": "God is great!" (An arresting exclamation these days, but like U2 and that song Charles Manson stole from the Beatles: "we're stealin' it back!").
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1 comment:
good to know, jon.
because i was wondering about it. all the time.
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