How about : “Lave a whale a while in a whillbarrow (isn’t it the truth I’m tallin ye?) to have fins and flippers that shimmy and shake”?

(One of the bits of James Joyce’s Finnegans Wake I jotted down amid the rest of the stuff going on.)

Photo illustrating this post: my neighbor had use for the round table on which my outdoor plants rested. Traded it off against an old wheelbarrow. This, among the rest of the stuff going on yesterday.

The dog seems to have had a restful night. Thumped her tail each time I came upstairs to check on her. She had two, count ’em, two spectacular seizures last night. We’re off to the vet in forty minutes or so, thanks to a lift from the neighbor who had use for the round table etc (see preceding paragraph).

I’ll pass on the rest of the excitement for now, other than this brief mention of canine epilepsy and Joyce. Except to say that what works best for me in reading Finnegans Wake is to skim along at a steady clip and catch  of the word waterfall what I can on a first reading. (Jotted down a few: “the leaves of the living in the boke of the deeds” or “She’ll loan a vesta and hire some peat and sarch the shores her cockles to heat”). The others I noted down, I can’t fathom this morning because – add a loud conversation in Soninke to the mix –  my handwriting shimmied and shaked some from all the sensory input around me last night.

Today. Story? Yes, that too.