Complex.

Lily's been causing problems in the Garden of the Gods. I found Ganesh upended, trunk in the dirt. Buddha's gone pallid with fright, arms in the air, ready for a frisk; and the luckcat has forfeited her turn. I've righted them, consoled them, brushed them off--and braved her resentful tortoise eyes--only to find them freshly dishevelled in an hour or so.

She does, however, seem to enjoy resting in the long dark shadow of Alexander the Great. But, really, don't we all?

I met a lady in the meads.

Gaiman outlined it most recently, but it's just plain common sense. If you meet an old woman under an oak, answer her questions and ask her your own. Give her what food or water she needs, take whatever trinket she gives you and curtsey.

The Young Turtle at Her Studies.

We're moving her onto Chaucer next week.

Oxides.

I'm assuming that Gary, Indiana rests on some sort of layline. Eventually the iron bolts that hold it to the earth will rust enough to let the otherworlders over and then Chicago will have something to really fear.

I never drink when I fly.

Stop the presses.

Dripping with the blood of his enemies.

GOR! GOR!GOR!GOR!GOR!!!

On a roll.

For Kevin who is "juuuuust right". Newfound cousin, dungeonmaster, All-Father to a redheaded host of Loki-like boys, writer extraordinaire, and founder of what I like to call the true Bathroom Reader.

Keep your eyes peeled.

Sicky

Really for cranky granny annie as she lies abed, but I'll add my own grumblings to the convalescent mewl.

The shrieking of innumerable gibbons.

Need to get a leg up over Insomnia. I've heard that if you bridle her with elm she'll race until morning.

Clinging onto bottles.

Mighty fond of old school Mountain Dew.