A Word With the Narrator

As Tine reviewed her day in bed last night -- and bed is perhaps the most pleasant place of all in which to review one's day -- she reflected sleepily on a curious thing about her blog: It seemed to skip back and forth in time, and even space, quite a lot. If a book wasn't ready at hand on a walk, for example, the chronicler of Tine's daily walk would dash home and retrieve it. This happened on Tine's walk by the canal, and yet, she thought, it isn't something that's generally done on walks.

Perhaps, Tine thought, narrators of blogs aren't strictly bound by the ordinary rules of walks, nor even by the laws of time and space. There may be certain priviliges that come with the position (to make up in part for the lack of a living wage).

And yet, Tine reflected, it would be rather nice having the narrator along for the entire walk. Tine would certainly miss Rubob if he rushed home to retrieve his guide to Joyce's "Ulysses." "Walks proceed at a pleasantly measured pace," she thought. "I'm not sure that the narrator fully understands this, or at least is altogether comfortable with it."

Tine, of course, maintains very cordial relations with the narrator of the blog and wouldn't want her thoughts to be interpreted as interfering in any way. She only wonders whether the chronicler of her walks might consider not dashing off somewhere else on the slightest impulse, for the odd quotation or even for the occasional pint of beer.

"If Rubob and I stop to look at a tree, a pond, or whatever, if we dawdle on the path, or if we pause to reflect on something," Tine thought, "the narrator might do well to stop with us, not run off down another path."

"I'll have a word with the narrator in the morning," Tine thought.