Hold my pen to the paper

Yesterday I went to a baptism. The baptizee was adorable—I got to hold him, although he was post-feeding and mostly asleep—there was incredibly good biryani and lemon bars at the reception afterward, and I was sent home with the head of a lamb cake. I did not get to Waltham, the International Steampunk City, but it was a good thing to do.

This afternoon I planted an azalea bush for my mother. She may like it even more than the Bernstein-conducted recording of West Side Story (1985) we got her for Mother's Day. ("Maria" by José Carreras came up on WERS on Saturday.) Then we watched Flammen & Citronen (2008), which is about as cheerful as every other film about partisans in World War II. I continue to be impressed by Mads Mikkelsen.

And I have been grading for schreibergasse, so my brain is trying to bleed out my ears, but at least two of the papers haven't caused me to think more than passingly of suicide. I'll take it.