Words spoken, not written

I dunna know. If you take the long look, the odds are heavily in favor of the future being created by forces much larger than whether culture is behaving this way or that. If you assume it’s totally beyond your control, and you might as well enjoy it, what 2 or 3 things could you do to indulge yourself. If it were me, I would take off for a long romanticx weekend and listen to the music that triggered my love for music:op. 131, zaide and fledermaus, k. 453, and la belle helene. And play some tennis, too.
If you take the short look, then you’ve got to know how much your sanity depends on having faith in the future and going with the flow. Not that I’m recommending sanity. Especially if you’re a writer. Not to mention that it’s hard to find work even at the best of times.
Gotta go write -

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THE MILK-WHITE DOO.
There was ance a man that wrought in the fields, and had a wife, and a son, and a dochter. So, ae day he catched a hare, and took it hame to his wife, and / p.53 / bade her make it ready for his dinner. Weel, ye see, the gudewife aye tasted and tasted at the hare when she was making it ready, till she had tasted it a’ away, and she didna ken what to do for her gudeman’s dinner. So she cried in Johny her son, to come and get his head kaimed ; and when she was kaiming his head, she slew him, and put him into the pat. Weel, ye see, the gudeman cam hame to his dinner, and his wife set down Johny weel boiled to him ; and when he was eating he takes up a fit [foot], and says, ” That’s surely my Johny’s fit.” ” Sic nonsense ! it’s ane o’ the hare’s,” says the gudewife. Syne he took up a hand, and says, ” That’s surely my Johny’s hand.” ” Ye’re havering, gudeman ; it’s anither o’ the hare’s feet.” Sae, when the gudeman had eaten his dinner, little Katy, Johny’s sister, gathered a’ the banes, and put them in below a stane at the cheek o’ the door—
Where they grew, and they grew,
To a milk-white doo,
That took its wings,
And away it flew.
And it flew till it cam to where twa women were washing claes, and it sat down on a stane, and cried—
” My mother slew me,
My father chew me,
My sister gathered my banes,
And put them between twa milk-white stanes ;
And I grew, and I grew,
To a milk-white doo,
And I took to my wings, and away I flew.”
” Say that ower again, my bonnie bird, and we’ll gie ye a’ thir claes,” says the woman.
” My mother slew me,” &c.
And it got the claes ; and then flew till it cam to a man counting a great heap o’ siller, and it sat down and cried—
” My mother slew me,” &c.
” Say that again, my bonnie bird, and I’ll gie ye a’ this siller,” says the man.
” My mother slew me,” &c.
And it got a’ the siller ; and syne it flew till it cam to twa millers grinding corn, and it cried—
” My mother slew me,” &c.
” Say that again, my bonnie bird, and I’ll gie ye this millstane,” says the miller.
” My mother slew me,” &c.
And it gat the millstane ; and syne it flew till it lighted on its father’s house-top. It threw sma’ stanes down the lum, and Katy came out to see what was the matter ; and the doo threw a’ the claes to her. Syne the father cam out, and the doo threw a’ the siller to him. And syne the mother cam out, and the doo threw down the millstane upon her and killed her. And at last it flew away, and the gudeman and his dochter after that
Lived happy and died happy,
And never drank out of a dry cappy.*

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* Our Annandale authority—Nurse Jenny Blackadder—had a different version of the Milk-White Doo. It represented Kate as sitting under the table, and, “aye as the gudeman threw the banes to the cat, she catched them.” The murdered infant grew into ” a wee green bird :” it sang—
” Pippety pew,
My mammy me slew ;
My daddy me ate ;
My sister Kate
Gathered a’ my banes,
And laid them between twa milk-white stanes ;
And a bird I grew,
And awa’ I flew,
Singing pippety pew, pippety pew,”—Da capo.

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