Today, by comparison to most days, anyway, a pitiably small act of renunciation and mortification on my part. I put the agenda-- the weekly officium defunctorum-- off a day, since tomorrow is the anniversary of my late Mother's birthday. Were I personally more advanced in the spiritual life I'd have said the Office today and repeated it tomorrow but, unlike the divine Mysteries themselves, the Sacraments Our Lord has left us, the opus Dei depends in large part on the worthiness of its celebrants and readers: very little would be gained, in other words, by me reciting the identical Office twice in less than 48 hours.
Am reading again, with great pleasure, A Taste for Death, one of... I cannot recall her name at the moment but will have done by the time I finish here... her fine Adam Dalgleish novels.
Noticed the word 'spill', used in a sense I'd not seen before; looking in the Dictionary has reminded me that I have indeed come across it, somewhere, who knows where.
It does derive from 'spile', a 'splinter, chip, or narrow strip of wood', evidently.
Tsk; I shall have to flip the page to see the author's name, tsk. The only name that is occupying such a useless space in my head at the moment is Ruth Rendell, who is most definitely not... still no go. Tsk.
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