Ninth night of Yule

As the light faded and with a little bird clucking at me from the neighbor's ornamental cherry tree, I blóted Bragi, Saga, Mímir, Snotra, Ár/Eir, and Holda/Perht in the back yard with more red wine.

D.O.P.-T.

A few weeks ago, notices went up on both gates to the tennis courts: No Private Lessons. I suppose it's necessary: there were sometimes lines of people waiting for one of the two courts, and the guys with baskets of bright new tennis balls were kind of obvious. But now of course the courts are rarely in use, with the chilly and wet weather. I don't see why lessons shouldn't be allowed now, especially since there always used to be the occasional parent teaching one or more youngsters.