I couldn't take it anymore

 I decided to stop reading The Brothers K - I won't miss them. I w

rote down the publisher, and the translator in case I ever have a reason to go back to them. For a good reason, I might; if so, it may as well be the same edition.

I've had the cushion for the rocking chair in my bedroom, waiting for some finishing touches, so long that I kept forgetting about it. But enough was enough and today I was looking at it. Basically, I'd covered the whole thing with some corduroy, just going right over the original, piping and all, and it almost was enough to cover the whole pad, but there's a space at the back of it that I just handstitched on. I've been meaning to cover it with something - nothing seems like a great idea. So I left it that way; it's on the chair and nobody's going to notice it until something strikes me. 

The offending area is at the back, where the chair spokes (is that the right term?) are, quite unobtrusive.

I took a video of Benny, coming up our driveway:

He stopped at the "crossroads", to ponder whether to go ahead to the back door, or take a left to the front door. 

I picked up Gladys Taber's The Best of Stillmeadow, which I apparently read six years ago . I hadn't remembered that a previous owner of their old farmhouse had murdered his wife! They didn't seem to mind it. They wanted their children to grow up in the country, with fresh air and nature all around. The house was rather run-down, more than they'd realized.

"Our basic equipment for this venture consisted of a staggering fortitude and no common sense. But we didn't know it then. We came out the next weekend and paid some more money. By then, most of the furniture had vanished, except three carders and five spinning wheels, and one rope bed which had been too big for moving out quickly.

High hearted, we advanced. We bought tons of wallpaper, and it turned out to be tons, since we had never papered before and so were uncertain about quantities. For years we gave away wallpaper. I sent for some furniture stored in Virginia, and three weeks later a disturbed Kentucky racehorse arrived while the furniture rode along to some racetrack. It takes time to swap a horse for your furniture. But by then we had discovered the fatal truth about every sink, toilet and tub in the house.

'Well, one could not expect a man to drain the pipes before shooting his wife,' said Jill. 'He didn't think of it.'"