Me, I’ve made a resolution. I’m going to start up with the whole concept of regular entries again. Silly thing that I am, I feel guilty about neglecting this thing. No clue why; there’s not all that much I can put in it. Not that it’s noticeable. Eh bien.

And so, as I was saying before I so rudely interrupted myself, the household went through a few interesting occurrences. Medusa took her offspring to see the maternal grandparents, while the Curmudgeon stayed behind to work. Soon as the rest of the troops returned, it was decided we’d be putting up a batch of cousins for the night. Medusa, less than thrilled, refused to clean the house, and failed to even screech for everyone else to do it. First time for everything, yes? “They’re just cousins,” she said flippantly. Cousins from the wrong side of the family, you mean; mentally add that on.

But if that’s what it takes to make her contrary enough to abandon housework, I won’t say a word.

So the cousins came and the role-playing began, but dinner was wonderful, awkwardness aside. Reminiscent of Sundays in the enormous Victorian place by the lilacs and magnolias. We used to go there every week, and it wasn’t unpleasant. But according to the uncle, the place’s new owners have hacked down a lot of the trees. These things happen when owners die. At least the Curmudgeon inherited the library.

And apparently another uncle and his wife have plunged into genealogy again. This time they’ve somehow managed to trace the Curmudgeon’s side of the family back to Charlemagne. As if Huguenots, Scots, and Confederates weren’t enough…

Excuse me, I need sleep. This is going nowhere, not that it was before.

Adieu.