Today has been busy and nice.

I taught two classes this morning. We talked about apostrophes, a few differences between British and American English, how Cinderella’s slippers were really made of fur (some sources say yes, some say no), why the Little Mermaid had to die, and the fact that Snow White was seven years old, yet she still married the Prince.

In other words, it was typical.

We might have discussed the brutal and bloody death of the Stepmother. It was hours ago.

Then, I had lunch with my delightful friend Garrison Steelle, walked around Target and Borders BookStore, picked up Hub at the Student Union (big day-long math conference), drove back to the college, dropped Garrison off at his car, came back to Bedford, dropped Hub off at his class, went into my friend LaShona’s office, and gabbed away for an hour or so till Hub’s class was over, and then we dined elegantly at Wendy’s, and came on home.

I was going to pick over the pile of holly in the back yard and try to root some of it but it’s too dark now.

I was so happy that I hadn’t seen any of the Westboro Phelpsians yesterday when they were here. And then today, while we were driving downtown, I saw two police cars, lights flashing. At first I thought it was a wreck or a robbery, but then I looked to my left and saw the Phelpsian Ilk standing all over the courthouse lawn, holding their signs, and looking for all the world like the drooling, slackjawed hillapes that they truly are. Hub thought a few of them looked somewhat intelligent but I didn’t see it.

So I guess in a way I was right. It was a train wreck of sorts, and a robbery of aesthetics and sensibilities.

We also saw their bus. These people have absolutely no class. Honestly, there really ought to be a law, forbidding ugly buses from taking to the road where people have to see them.

Then again, the looks of their bus pretty much matched the looks of the passengers. Both ugly. Inside and out.

And insistent on inflicting that ugliness on others.

I opened my window to hear what they were shouting, but Hub and Garrison were talking about how people shouldn’t pay any attention to them so I closed it again.

But I’m home now. And it’s peaceful and quiet and all I can hear is the sound of my fingers tapping on the keyboard.

I hate it.

I’m going crazy. I want noise. (. . . cranks up computer and sets it to ‘random. . . . .’)

And now I’m going to sew some more. Christmas is coming, you know.