by J J Cohen
This evening I depart for Wales, and the New Chaucer Society Congress, where I will be presenting a paper in a "Politics of Memory" panel and hobnobbing with the Chaucerians. I have separation anxiety already, because while I am gone my son Alex departs for two weeks of sleepaway camp in the wilds of West Virginia. The minute I return, my wife leaves for a business meeting in Colorado Springs. The only Cohen staying in place over the next few weeks is poor, neglected Katherine, who will now be made to sleep in the attic and will be issued a small broom with which to sweep up after the rest of us.
The Tiny Shriner is NOT coming with me on this jaunt because I just cannot imagine a transatlantic flight with that guy -- even if some doctor would prescribe tiny Ambien for him.