Dear You, We're on the MoveIt's the middle of the nightRegine rousted us. We're moving out. My guess is --- Regine bribed the night guards on the bridge The whole company is completely grumped out Stumblin' and a-bumblin' like bumper cars in the dark *doink!* *cheeful melody of metal clanks and human curses* I've got a few minutes to write before I need to mount up. Word Is. . . forced march to MilanShe wants us there fast The Visconti wedding isn't until weekend-after-this! whatever *yawn* GladGlad they rescheduled your Performance Reviewfor Monday Glad you sent me a kiss thanks *smile* Arooooo, arooooo!Weird Dream just now ---The French lute player last night played another troubadour song (kind of a ghost story) about a lovesick man who gets nuttier and nuttier until he goes out into the woods and lives with wolves and the guy got quieter and quieter as he sang then pointed out into the darkness said that the real-life wolf man had lived right around here just like we used to do in Summer Camp (I didn't know that trick was this old) But the weird thing is as I dreamed about the song (the Lady unknowingly goes wolf hunting with her guards) there were real wolves howling out in the night . . .close by, too! and then Regine woke us up Messages in the HeadIt sucks not to know exactly what's happeningwith the company I do know that a lot of what goes on back here has to do with messages for various people that Regine has memorized and has to deliver I can understand that I know how much a message . . . . . . say . . . for example . . . an e-mail from you . . . is worth Read This and Then Forget ItA guy in this little village we went throughwas speaking Latin Creole with me Said the Pope's troops came through here 3 years ago and killed his dog and his wife and his son (he specified that order *shudder*) with a spear He made me promise to tell some one far away so that people would know to the ends of the earth what the Pope's troops are like So. There. I fulfilled my promise. Sorry Next subject Dinner / IndegestionInsufficiently-boiled bread ballstaste like spackling compound Here's Skip . . .. . . with Nastibelle all saddled upgotta ride I owe you the big description of a neck-and-shoulder massage I was going to write you today your fateful server, Bert l'Altissimo |