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though unconscionable to rank one's relatives, my partiality could hardly be doubted.
today is the birthday of a favourite aunt, Mrs. Dolores Jennings Van der Hoof Walker.in future, banks shall assuredly follow society's example and enjoy a holiday every eleventh day of August.
after imbibing more brandy than should two gentleman sharing a noonday meal, cousin Cecil revealed to me that he never finished The Personal History and Experience of David Copperfield the Younger."there were just too many pages," said he.obviously, I was scandalized.then I realized that nor had I ever read beyond chapter six, saying at the time that "[t]here are just too many pages and I really ought to read something else now".thus we resolved to finish the book together.as it has been nearly a decade since either of us last attempted to read The Personal History and Experience of David Copperfield the Younger, both of us will start again at the beginning. and, for a number of reasons (each chapter is so convoluted, other books may strike our fancy in the meantime and we feel no external obligation to finish post haste), we have decided to read only six chapters each week, completing the task by mid-October.every Friday, I will summarize the chapters from the previous week. I hope others besides myself and Cecil will participate and post their comments after each such installation.this begins next Friday when I shall recount the details of Mr. Copperfield's birth (chapter one) through the enlargement of his circle of acquaintance (chapter six).
though ever ready to indulge my appreciation for the ironic, the placement of this proclamation at back of a dented and rusty "Chevrolette pick-up" reveals it as an earnest cry for help made by one truly in need, neither exaggerating nor reveling his situation and certainly not doing so for comedic effect.
I intended to assist the owner of this motorized conveyance until I realized that the money he might need for groceries would have been available had he not spent such on a personalized license plate.
delicious.
yesterday I attended the funeral of a miserly uncle. no one shared anything nearing praise of a man whose life was so grudgingly lived but, due to his sizable holdings in Nebraskashire (including the family's original homestead) and the Canadian wasteland of Alberta, all hoped to hear to whom he so bequeathed.
though unconscionable to rank one's relatives, my partiality could hardly be doubted.
after imbibing more brandy than should two gentleman sharing a noonday meal, cousin Cecil revealed to me that he never finished The Personal History and Experience of David Copperfield the Younger.
though ever ready to indulge my appreciation for the ironic, the placement of this proclamation at back of a dented and rusty "Chevrolette pick-up" reveals it as an earnest cry for help made by one truly in need, neither exaggerating nor reveling his situation and certainly not doing so for comedic effect.
yesterday I attended the funeral of a miserly uncle. no one shared anything nearing praise of a man whose life was so grudgingly lived but, due to his sizable holdings in Nebraskashire (including the family's original homestead) and the Canadian wasteland of Alberta, all hoped to hear to whom he so bequeathed.
