The Holy Grail Press
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Word of the Every So Often
phylactery: (noun) (pronounced: fuh-lack-tor-ree) A phylactery is a small leather box containing Hebrew texts written on vellum, which was originally “paper” made from calves’ skin, but can be any smooth writing paper that imitates vellum. A phylactery is worn by Jewish men at morning prayers as a reminder for them to keep the law.
The Almost Daily
It’s National Lost Sock Memorial Day, a day when we can all pause and remember back fondly when our favourite pair of woolen socks were a pair. But then they developed artistic differences, or one of them wanted to date others, or just see the world – I’m sorry, it’s me, not you – and the other was left to ponder a life on its own. Left by its mate, shunned by the feet that used to hold it dear. A life without meaning. Kept in a drawer in the hope that its mate would some day return, but knowing it never will. Hey, it was either this or Alphabet Magnet Day, and nobody has a complete set of those, either.
Cartoon of the Week
Bear With Me
Stuff
One Fine Day in the Mid-Nineteenth Century
Deep in the Woods of British Columbia
– a very short play –
Setting: A clearing in the woods.
At curtain the clearing is empty, but filled with the sounds of birds.
Enter Left Sir Richard along with his trusty companion, Peter, pushing their way out of the undergrowth. They cross to Center.
Sir Richard: (excitedly pointing up into a tree) There! There! Mark it down, my good man. A new species of bird! I think I'll call it a Tit.
Peter: And a fine name it is, Sir Richard. But what kind of tit?
Sir Richard: And right you are, Peter. Bloody well done. As you know, there can be lots of different kinds of tits. And it is our duty to see them all!
Peter: Indeed, but what shall we name this one?
Sir Richard: It was in the bush, so I say it's a Bushtit.
Peter: Brilliant!
Sir Richard: Now doesn't that just make you giggle? Like the Dickcissel. Now there's a silly name. After all, it's not a truly good name if it's not just a tad bit silly, too, now, is it? Now let's be off, and if we're really lucky, we'll find a pecker or two before nightfall. And maybe even a cock! And tomorrow... boobies!
Exit Right Sir Richard and Peter into the undergrowth.
Curtain.
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