One way of representing thoughts had while painting our house: I have a daughter who remembers. To get to my lofty current status in life, I had to remember from the moment when I left all my condensing of notes until the moment when the examiner said, "Pick up your pens." Before looking at the questions, I scribbled as quickly as possible as many of the makings and breakings of the French Revolution as I could conjure. What remains of this in my brain is the rough equivalent of a beach following a storm. Bits and pieces of other stuff have also stuck--this, from Shakespeare, that from Harry Lauder-- but when we play a Gilbert and Sullivan disc I sing, "Go ye heroes go to glory, go to...something, something tea." My daughter, by contrast, remembers all the words. You know that nightmare song from Iolanthe? For your brain is on fire, the bed-clothes conspire Of usual slumber to plunder you: First your counter-pane goes, and uncovers your toes, And your sheet slips demurely from under you... She can recite the whole thing without breaking a sweat. I do admire what I don't gots. Another way of representing thought had while painting our house: what a wonderful shade of orange is the loose dead branch that's caught high in that fir i hope it falls soon imagine if that thing were to catch fire is painting about protection or looks if a job's worth doing it's worth doing well that's dad's view why am i rushing where's the fire if it's about looks whose opinion is it that matters neighbors family friends passing house critics i can't be bothered to do more sanding and scraping enough is enough cover it with a couple of coats and call it good or as bev says put a fork in it and call it good i wonder if i've ever sent her a photo of the massive fork sculpture in vevay i don't know if there's a french equivalent to put a fork in it and call it good this color's not going to match so i think i'll make the patches look like water tumbling down a slope and over here we'll try some happy happy trees god my back hurts And here's the highly-condensed version: pre-owned cars pre-owned books the book of uncommon prayer David Ritchie, Portland, Oregon