Happiness is a sad song

Yesterday was the November ROLT event.  Since this was Armistice Day, I focused on sad writing, with the title "Happiness Is a Sad Song." (That's one of those Peanuts sayings along the lines of "Happiness Is a Warm Puppy.") About twenty-five people said they were coming, I made a reservation for twelve, and seven people showed up.  It was unusually successful.

I read the Alice Munro story "Days of the Butterfly" (which I'd read in high school); the last part of the Longfellow poem Evangeline; the Whittier poem "Maud Muller" (with the famous line "The saddest words are 'what might have been'); and the Housman poem "To an Athlete Dying Young." Jane read something from the Marilyn Monroe book Conversations With Marilyn.

On the way out I left my wallet at the Victory Cafe, and only noticed after I got home.  I went back and got it just when John and Kathrine were there for dinner. (Moira wanted me to cancel my Visa card right away, but I held out.)

This afternoon I was uncharacteristically late for the memoir group, and didn't have time to write about the first subject, which was trust, but my mind drew a blank anyway.  I did get to write a whole page on the second subject, which was magazines.

In the evening I was over half an hour late for choir practice (also uncharacteristically), because I'd gone to the party for Olivia Chow volunteers at 21 Cecil St.  I only appeared there briefly, and that to see Nelson L., whom I didn't get to meet on election night.