This is written on the title page of the dictionary on my night table. More completely, it reads "Away with Words, Christmas 1975." It was written by the man who gave me the dictionary, who at that time was my future husband and now is my former husband. He was an English teacher and a poet in addition to being a rock and roll guitarist and a motorcycle racer and later (after he blew out his knee racing motorcycles) a bicycle racer. Some people said he looked like Tom Selleck or Burt Reynolds but he didn't really look like either, though he was very handsome. He had the nicest penmanship of any man I've ever known.

It's the most useful dictionary I have.

One of the comments to this blog observed that there was entirely too much stuff on the table. Which in a way is true, yet in comparison to what might be on or in the table it is minimal. For instance, a typical inhabitant of a night table is often a glass of water, or if you're really fancy or are influenced by English novels a pitcher with a cover that acts as a beaker, perhaps in cut glass. From there it's not a far leap to a plate of cookies - or biscuits, to continue the English theme. Then why not a hot-water bottle, or a fan for night-sweats if you are unfortunate enough to have them, and an assortment of over-the-counter (or patent, t.c.t.E.t.) medicines in case you wake up with a runny or congested nose, or an ache or a pain? Or a stack of clean pillowcases in case you have a hankering for a fresh one in the middle of the night? So you see, my night table really is stocked rather sparely.

I neglected to mention that my cell phone is often resident on the night table, though it wasn't there when I made the initial inventory. For many years I lived well and happily without a cell phone, and now I seem to need it by me when I sleep.

Because I don't seem to need an alarm to wake up on time. That may be bragging or complaining, or both. If I slept the way I did when I was a teenager, I'd still need an alarm. I miss being able to sleep for 9 or 10 hours straight, without waking.

The night table is a bit different today. The coaster and hairbrush are stowed in the drawer. Today was cleaning day and I tidied before my friend cleaned. I am more neat than clean. Remember the scene in Five Easy Pieces where the woman who picks them up says that? She was a little crazy, but she was right. More people are neat than are clean.

Because it was cleaning day today the night table is also polished and the books are aligned exactly at right angles to the edge of the table.

The answer to the question posted last time about the position of the prayer books is that I use the 1979 more than the 1928. I belong to a 1979 (Episcopal) church but I like certain things about the 1928 book, which is used mostly by breakaway congregations who call themselves Anglican, rather than Episcopalian, in the U.S. I like the particular 1928 book I have, which was given to me by a friend; it is small and old and has the cross impressed on the cover rather than just printed. It is sweet to hold and to open.

My 1979 prayer book is also small and sweet, but being newer is not so imbued with character. But it is the one I open at night and it is the one with the ribbons. Which can be a distraction. One is tempted to play with them and fondle the charms when one's mind is wandering while saying prayers.

that the 1928 Prayer Book is BELOW the 1979?
that the issues of the Nation are unread?
that there are two tubes of Benadryl cream?
that the clock radio alarm is never set?
that the Post-It Notes are in the drawer rather than on top?
that the dictionary has written on its title page, "Away with words"?