Reading: A few pages of The Virgin in the Garden before abandoning semi-consciousness

Moving: nope

Listening: Conversation

Watching: ZBD draw

7 October 2000: Epilogue

When we arranged ourselves in the car for the trip back, someone told some silly joke or other, so I told my favorite joke. It's my favorite more because it's the only medieval knock-knock joke than because it's actually good, and anyway I defy any knock-knock joke to be good.

Knock, knock.

Who's there?

Sutton.

Sutton Who?

Nisou's parents got it, and laughed, and Nisou had run back into the house for her bag, so only SEM and MCB were left going huh? Simply put, Sutton Hoo is an archeological site stumbled upon on the east coast of England sometime during WWII containing a Viking (burial? memory fails) ship.

So off we went. Nisou and I shared the middle seat and I mostly talked books to her parents. AMB told me about a book called Longitude and how the invention of these imaginary lines had relied upon a timepiece that would remain accurate even at sea. That reminded me of one of my favorite bits in Borderliners. I don't know if Høeg invented it or these really existed, but he mentioned candles in ancient China that would burn through different layers of incense so that you experienced the passing of the hours as a series of scents. I asked Nisou for help with that letter in his surname, the o with a slash through it, and she uttered an ooey, uuuish sound with her polyglot's tongue that I failed to reproduce. And she said that that sort of finial g isn't pronounced in Danish.

A while later AMB said,

Knock, knock

Who's there?

Peter

Peter Høeg.

I know. It's not a written joke. But that's what I love about hanging out with them, jokes feeding off previous jokes, puns, wordplay, and books.

I tried to describe Lempriere's Dictionary to them, which led me to The Pope's Rhinoceros also by Norfolk, which reminded me of Zaraffa, or whatever the title is, about the first giraffe to survive Europe for any period. That they've read, and it turns out that Dava Sobel wrote that as well as Galileo's Daughter. I have books to read. I also sketched Possession briefly and recommended reading it rather than listening to it, because of the cross-outs in the letters and so that you can reread the poems if you want.

When we got home, we called JCC and ALN and they came over for a spell. ALN racked up a third master's this summer and JCC is back at UConn working on a doctorate in English and they remain fabulously dedicated teachers and just bought a house and I love them to pieces in a slightly awestruck manner. JCC has grown his hair out somewhat, which makes me happy. When I met him in 1990 he had curly red hair halfway down his back, and I think he still had it long in 1993 while working on his MFA. But then when he returned to Connecticut to teach in public schools, he cut it; it was short at our wedding and in 1998 and that was slightly jarring. It's around his ears again and he looks like my mental construct of him. We hottubbed and talked into very small hours and ALN was asleep on her feet, and they left.

Weeks ago when I offered myself as a houseguest, I had dibsed the window seat, which I don't think anyone particularly wanted anyway. One of the pleasantest afternoons I have ever spent at Charenton, and there have been many, was in the window seat among sheepskins reading a new, non-school book. (It was Plains of Passage. Spank me.) I wanted to repeat that experience. So, despite being surrounded on three sides by glass, I was yummily comfortable. I had a sleeping bag and a blanket around my shoulders and I don't believe I shifted all night.

In the morning, I moved over somewhat so Nisou could join me, and we lay there cozily (she had been very cold all night) and I played with her hair and we talked and the sun came up and I ripped the insulating quilt off the velcro'd windowframes and we watched the sun slant sunlight in over the trees up the pasture through the grape arbor into the window seat and I was very happy.

And that was Saturday night.