Jeff Harrison and I have completed the 79th installment of Antic View. the world record is 80. lots of ANTICipation here, wooee. please read our interview blog and find out who we think we're better than.

reading Hogfather by Terry Pratchett. I read the 1st twenty or so Disc World stries, roughly as they came out, years ago. I've always been interested in humourous writing, but you know, there aint much really in the more "substanial forms", like novels. I used to plunder the local used book store for anything (almost) with blurbs suggesting hilarity. apparently we have variance in the definition of the term. I'v e alwasy equated hilaity with some effort of humour, silly me. so, however I got onto Pratchett, I stayed with his yearly appearances. I stopped reading them a while ago, because I just wasn't reading many novels at all. but I turned Beth onto Pratchett, so that she ends most days with a read of himself, and she's read everything he's produced Disc World-wise, several times o'er. I love how Pratchet's themes are so apocalyptic. he's got himself a s Yoknapatawpha world. I liek Faulkner too, tho somewhat leery of his self-conscious fetid lushness. Pratchett plays his worldscape really well, new and old characters twining merrily. this touchs my poetics, tho I won't bore you with that now. well, only to say one's interest carries.

yesterday, friends, we forced Erin to North Bridge in Concord for a little history lesson (homeschool, remember), and into The Olde Manse Inc, which portions of Emerson's family owned for 150 years, with an interim 3 year rental by Hawthorne. owned indeed by a non-profit holding company for interesting properties (name forgotten at this key time). the Manse, from which Hawthorne extricated Mosses, sits on a slight rise at a safe distance from the mighty floodable Concord River, which Thoreau (accent on 1st syllable) states probably rushes at the lowest possible flood: one inch incline to the mile. yet this is a watery sprng and summer hereabouts, so the river shows no slackitude even yet. but anyway. disgruntled colonials versus disgruntled Hessians 231 years agone. remnants. I've always loved this place. Beth and I exchanged marriage vows (poems, actually) on the very Bridge here, winter solstice 2000. but I, for all my years in this area, never done the tour of the Manse. the 4th seemed the right day, Hawthorne's birthday. the upstairs back bedroom where Emerson set his desk atween the windows to look out towards the river (the essay "Nature"), yet Hawthrone chose to set his desk on the opposite wall, with view of said wall. and the windows etched by Sophia (long I for 2nd syllable) Hawthorne, using her diamond wedding ring, playful, permanent graffiti. the bodies of Sophia and daughter Una were just last week brought back from England and reburied at Sleepy Hollow cemetery where Nathaniel. lots of flowers there sunday when I stopped there with camera. calla lily bouquet on Thoreau's grave. sometimes I feel preternaturally New English, including the comfort of the low ceilings and colonial style (never lived in such, myself). yet I feel that I should apologize as well, as if I were trapped in such a concept. then, apres diner, we zipped into Boston for a desperate atttempt to see fireworks. and we toured around, not zackly sure when festivities would be. we saw the various sights of Cambridge near the river till we finally set the chariot to rest, walked a mile or so and beheld what looked like Gandalf versus Balrog in the offing behind buildings and trees. and it seemed just about right, and our own family way, to put the fourth in such perpective and activity.