Joseph Moffatt, 1939 - 2003

Under the wide and starry sky,
Dig the grave and let me lie.
Glad did I live and gladly die,
And I laid me down with a will.

This be the verse you 'grave for me:
Here lies he where he longed to be;
Home is the sailor, home from the sea,
And the hunter home from the hill.

- Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894) "Requiem"; changed to reflect my father's recollection

Holiday preamble.

I got out early today, which was nice. They're asking if I can come in next week, and stay late tomorrow, and we'll see how all that plays out. But for tonight... nice.

Also! I got home to find that Future Lovecraft had made it to my mailbox, with a bookmark and a little holiday card.

I'm going to try to get in early tomorrow, and stay late if I need to. Tonight, I'm going to the SnB potluck, and I understand there are zombies to deal with in Papua New Guinea. (I may be fuzzy on the details.)

Not actually damaged, but...

I do not think I've ever been bruised so badly.

It's like ink. Dark utterly unmottled ink. And it's still only getting stronger.

(I slipped this morning, and landed in such a way that my full weight came down on a corner of the concrete steps leading down from the porch.)