Decided to try a warming mat for my seeds this year. Clearly it works. This is three days in. Which is good, because if one spends money on a technological aid to what is supposed to be a simple, down to earth activity, one at least wants results for one’s hypocrisy!

Starting seeds.

”‘Twas a grey day in February, and evening fell like a dead canary…” Thus begins this year’s winning entry in the annual Upper Dongle Creek Literary Society Bad Poetry Contest

If the Lenten roses are blooming on Epiphany, do I have to go ahead and start fasting?

En freehlicher (zwedde) Grischtdaag!

Have Yourself a Medieval Christmas. Ten years since I wrote this piece, and I wouldn’t write it the same way now, but it’s worth sharing again anyhow. Come tomorrow night, kick up your heels and raise a glass to the newborn king!

I want someone to record an album of cheeseball “Christmas” songs of the 20th century in historical styles. “Rock around the Christmas tree” becomes a late-Medieval Iberian dance (think “Riu Riu Chiu”). “I’ll Be Home For Christmas” as Gregorian chant. A polyphonic “Last Christmas” in the style of Tomas Luis de Vittoria (it hardly has any lyrics anyway, you’d barely notice the repetition). Also “Frosty the Snowman” arranged in shape note.

Each task that I address begets precursors /
As if work’s genealogy reverses, /
And so another once-promising day, /
Like last night’s beer, is swiftly pissed away.