One of us is not what we were before

Okay, that was odd. I am - as some of you know - in possession of a yarli. Or at least the head of a yarli. Of course it's coming to America. Whom do you know, who would leave behind their yarli? These things are precious, and not common.

Also, these things are not small. I bought my yarli in Knaresborough (which is a small town close to Harrogate, for those who know not Yorkshire). The nice lady swathed it in bubblewrap and packed it in a voluminous sports bag, which I then ferried home by train; I think I may have taken a cab from the station, for it is that big and awkward.

Because I am something of a hoarder, I still have the sports bag. And the bubblewrap. So: I have swathed it, and fetched down the bag, and - this thing will not fit in that thing. Not nohow. There is no way it ever did.

And yet, and yet. It did too. Unless the bag has shrunk or the yarli grown, and neither of those is likely: one is nylon, and the other is wooden with iron teeth. It is a bafflement.

It was, also, a significant problem. Fortunately, though, I am a hoarder. I have other bags, including one which turns out to be even vaster as well as more robust. So: I have packed my yarli. I have no idea whether it will actually survive the journey (after centuries in the monsoon weather, the wood of its skull is as soft as balsa), but I have done my best. Who would have guessed the old man to have so much bubblewrap?

[Also, dust. I may never live to breathe again.]

Further to my last

I have added a teddy-bear (no, not Softly!) and a cat-bed to the yarli in the bag. Do you suppose I can list this on my inventory for Customs purposes as "Household Gods"?

5:50

After sixteen years? This is exactly the time of day when I glance at the time of day and think "Oh, I have duties now..."

Of course, ordinarily I have had small furry reminders yowling at me for the last hour or so, but none the less. This is the exact moment I am tuned to. It is weirdly hard to remember that no, I have no duties. It are not tea-time. Emptiness is.

Lordie, I love language

Actually, I seem to have strayed out of English, but hey.

There I was, describing a petrifying well; and suddenly I needed all unexpectedly a word for someone or something who would eat the things thus petrified, a stone-muncher. And I thought, "lithophage - that should be the word!" and so I wrote it in. And then I googled it. Apparently it is the word - in French. Hey-ho.