Oh, Dear Lord.
Did you see how pompous I sounded back there when I mentioned Laurie Colwin? I’m cringing because that went out into the ether of the net-world, and now I’m having visions of that scene in the Paltrow Emma when they’re all sitting on the grass, and pushy Mrs. Elton is distracted from her busybody, probing conversation by a compliment on the dainty little sandwiches everyone is eating.
She preens, and coyly announces, “Well, my Friends flaaaaater me that I DO know how to make a sangwidge.”
If I knew how to delete or edit my own conceited-sounding bit, I would. I’m still too new to all these bells and whistles which make a blog GO, and haven’t got the hang of much of it.
My E-lliteracy is legendary. I can sign on, get my mail and post stuff, but that’s about it for me. Today will be learning to post pictures. I hope, I hope. My teacher has gone off, in denims and suspenders and a battered black vest, forbidding black Jeremiah Johnson hat pulled low over those kind green eyes and lending his cheery countenance a bit of remove, with a shotgun slung over one shoulder, off the the gun show to trade and haggle and discuss. It makes him happy.
He may return sans shotgun, or he may still be wagging that thing across the state til Spring, meeting new folks and greeting old friends and talkin' about guy stuff. It's his way.
But I DO retract that Colwin bit. I apologize. I grovel. I cringe.