and I'm so late today. I'm not working this week, you know. I'd like to know what became of this week. Here it is Thursday already and I've been racing around doing chores like a crazed weasel. Where were the days that I spent in leisurely contemplation of the autumn sunshine while sedately knitting on the couch? What happened to sleeping in until the decadent hour of 7:30 AM? Actually I've done pretty much what I wanted when I wanted all week so I really shouldn't complain, but I like complaining (actually I pretty much love it, I could win an Olympic gold medal in it if it was a sport) so I'm going to keep on complaining until I totally get what I want and then I'll complain about that. I'm fairly certain of it.
November 9--Corsica. Every other male on this island is named Napoleon. It must be confusing when they're all in school or on the same soccer team. We learned in history class that Napoleon Bonaparte, the short egomaniac who declared himself emperor, not just king but emperor of France was born on Corsica. I've always thought that the practice of naming a baby after an actor or a singer was a sign of ignorance, but with a native son as famous as Corsica's it's understandable. Geneva thought the island was pretty enough. She was happy she had come for her vacation but the sheer volume of Napoleons was beginning to get to her a bit. There was Napoleon the cafe owner and Napoleon the greengrocer, Napoleon the owner of her hotel and young Napoleon who drove the town taxi, even the horse that pulled the cart that took tourists around the area was named Napoleon. As she sat in the morning sun in the cafe enjoying coffee and a sweet pastry, known as a Napoleon of course, her ears longed to hear of a George or Mark or Charlie, anything but Napoleon.
Happy days!
--Barbara
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