Nine Feet Underground

It's strange how words or phrases that you consider to be commonplace or part of a shared language don't always transfer to your children. After I showered this morning, son #3 was also going to take a shower. In jest, I said I was "done but not brown", which I thought was a good "off-the-cuff" pun. He didn't understand the pun, and so I had to explain (never the best way with puns or jokes) that "dun" is a shade of brown (greyish brown, officially), as used in the phrase "the dun cow". There are lots of pubs called "The Dun Cow" (look it up). There are als myths about them/it. Oh, well. Never mind. Whilst I was out walking, I was musing on this incident amongst other things and thought, 'I guess it's a bit like me reading Shakespeare and not understanding some of the phrases'. Like the line, "...Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo..." which many people believe (myself included, until I dug deeper) ...

First day of work in the last week of work for 2022!  Usual rules apply! Apart from today being another day in the grips of an icy blast of Arctic air, the only other thing of note is that the plumber is due back to inspect a leak that appears to be coming from where the tray and shower enclosure meet.  I suspect they're being a little stand-offish as they haven't been formally introduced.  A dance card has been marked for tonight. This week's poem is an intriguing sonnet by John Donne, one that has both clarity and mystery. It's not quite in the spirit of the season, or perhaps it is?  Christmas foreshadows the end of the year, the death of one year and the birth of another.  It requires further thought.  Officially it's called ' Death, be not proud (Holy Sonnet 10) ', and here it is: Death, be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou are not so; For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow Die not, poor Death, nor yet c...