Early Music Week

Swimming, as you may have guessed from previous posts, makes me feel as good as a popsicle tastes. Cherry popsicles are my favorite, although Shark Bars, which are lemon-flavoured (not shark-flavoured), are beginning to dominate this particular arena of my existence. They are like swimming on a very, very hot and humid day, whereas cherry popsicles are more like going to the dentist and having a flouride treatment. Orange popsicles are like going to Funtown, and root beer popsicles are like my mother. Blue raspberry popsicles are confusing, lime popsicles are sort of unsatisfying, coconut popsicles are like vanilla popsicles, and mango popsicles are incomprehensibly delicious.

Yesterday morning I put in my earplugs to swim, and it was a lime/coconut swimming sort of day. I couldn't hear the water sloshing as my feet went in, nor the breeze in the trees, though I could certainly see its force. I could not hear if anyone was coming up behind me with the intent to murder, and I couldn't even hear the gossip in the kitchen, which usually echoes from one edge of the lake to the other. What I could hear, and it cast a great and rather dreary dream quality unto my morning babtism off the Back Lads dock, was recorders, and lots of them. (Note the use of 'was' instead of 'were,' due to the fact that 'recorders' is not really plural; it is a group, a flock, a mob. 'Was' is correct in this situation, according to Strunk and White.). Welcome to Early Music Week at Pinewoods!