I've marinaded the potato slices in Caesar dressing, Newman's Own. They are on the tiny Weber cooking slowly with the sweet corn and pork chops. I call these potatoes, "Et tu, Brutaters." [Act III, scene i]
My youngest, just home from nine months in Italy, has a lean and hungry look. I doubt that Caesar would consider him dangerous, and I'm not sure his skinniness has anything to do with thinking too much. [Act I, scene ii] It's just his age. If I had eaten as much pasta as my son, you could use me as a doorstop at the Baptistry in Florence.
Woe, for I have gotten myself into a Shakespearean cauldron of confusion. Looking ahead in my book of quotations I find that Marc Antony speaks the phrase, "Cry 'Havoc,' and let slip the dogs of war." [Act 3, scene 1 of Julius Caesar]. Why can I hear Kenneth Branaugh shouting that phrase in my mind? What charge did he yell in Henry V?
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more...? [Act 3, scene 1]
© 2008 Nancy L. Ruder