Brunch Club

Monday, April 10, 2006

Easter Brunch Potluck



I know it's a little soon to start planning, but I just got excited about the possibility of a 2nd annual BC06 Easter Potluck. Are we having one? If so, who's hosting? Will Ricky bring Heidi Klum gummi's again? What are people bringing? I'll volunteer Yoni and myself to make the famous Woody family egg casserole.

16 Comments:

  • A. Paul, that's the funniest picture I've ever seen you exhibit. What's the origin?
    B. I dont' remember a brunch potluck for Easter last year, was I there?
    C. I really would like to do something like that this year. I will make my own homemade sausage (not really).

    By Blogger Erica Sims, at 4/10/2006 03:48:00 PM  

  • I loved our easter egg hunt brunch last year - this year though, my dish is going to involve some Passover. Where/when do you propose such brunching/hunting?

    By Blogger Annette, at 4/11/2006 09:26:00 AM  

  • Billy and I would be happy to again host the 2nd annual Easter BC06 brunch club. We will have Billy's Russian door prizes along with the Heidi Klum candy.

    By Blogger kate, at 4/11/2006 03:12:00 PM  

  • i plan to furnish deviled eggs.

    By Blogger SaraS, at 4/12/2006 10:55:00 PM  

  • Whether the Executive uses the Aircraft alone or joins others using the Aircraft for bona fide business purposes, the value is calculated the same.

    By Anonymous wormie, at 4/13/2006 01:00:00 PM  

  • IF YOU EVER WANT TO SEE YOUR LITTLE FRIEND LUXMUNDITO AGAIN -- ALIVE -- you must send interesting articles to me to read. LUX is trapped in a Hell of my own creation, but I am there too. IN ORDER FOR LUX TO BE FREE, I need to fly. SO MAIL ME or LUX DIES here, far from civilization, on this heathen coast.

    TriplePowerfulInvisibleSpirit @gmail.com

    By Anonymous Triple Powerful Invisible Spirit, at 4/13/2006 05:24:00 PM  

  • This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.

    By Blogger luxmundito, at 4/13/2006 05:29:00 PM  

  • o.h.m.y.g.o.d.g.u.y.s.p.l.e.a.s.e.
    s..a..v..e me!

    fake morse code SOS here!

    it smells bad and everyone's burning for christ!

    heeeeeeeeelp me! send TPIS what he wants! it's the only way he'll feed me! anything! please help!

    By Blogger luxmundito, at 4/13/2006 05:33:00 PM  

  • and his little dog wormie too!

    By Anonymous Triple Powerful Invisible Spirit, at 4/13/2006 05:37:00 PM  

  • GOD SEES THE TRUTH, BUT WAITS



    BY LEO N. TOLSTOY


    In the town of Vladimir lived a young merchant named Ivan Dmitrich
    Aksionov. He had two shops and a house of his own.

    Aksionov was a handsome, fair-haired, curly-headed fellow, full of
    fun, and very fond of singing. When quite a young man he had been
    given to drink, and was riotous when he had had too much; but after he
    married he gave up drinking, except now and then.

    One summer Aksionov was going to the Nizhny Fair, and as he bade
    good-bye to his family, his wife said to him, "Ivan Dmitrich, do not
    start to-day; I have had a bad dream about you."

    Aksionov laughed, and said, "You are afraid that when I get to the
    fair I shall go on a spree."

    His wife replied: "I do not know what I am afraid of; all I know is
    that I had a bad dream. I dreamt you returned from the town, and when
    you took off your cap I saw that your hair was quite grey."

    Aksionov laughed. "That's a lucky sign," said he. "See if I don't sell
    out all my goods, and bring you some presents from the fair."

    So he said good-bye to his family, and drove away.

    When he had travelled half-way, he met a merchant whom he knew, and
    they put up at the same inn for the night. They had some tea together,
    and then went to bed in adjoining rooms.

    It was not Aksionov's habit to sleep late, and, wishing to travel
    while it was still cool, he aroused his driver before dawn, and told
    him to put in the horses.

    Then he made his way across to the landlord of the inn (who lived in a
    cottage at the back), paid his bill, and continued his journey.

    When he had gone about twenty-five miles, he stopped for the horses to
    be fed. Aksionov rested awhile in the passage of the inn, then he
    stepped out into the porch, and, ordering a samovar to be heated, got
    out his guitar and began to play.

    Suddenly a troika drove up with tinkling bells and an official
    alighted, followed by two soldiers. He came to Aksionov and began to
    question him, asking him who he was and whence he came. Aksionov
    answered him fully, and said, "Won't you have some tea with me?" But
    the official went on cross-questioning him and asking him. "Where did
    you spend last night? Were you alone, or with a fellow-merchant? Did
    you see the other merchant this morning? Why did you leave the inn
    before dawn?"

    Aksionov wondered why he was asked all these questions, but he
    described all that had happened, and then added, "Why do you
    cross-question me as if I were a thief or a robber? I am travelling on
    business of my own, and there is no need to question me."

    Then the official, calling the soldiers, said, "I am the
    police-officer of this district, and I question you because the
    merchant with whom you spent last night has been found with his throat
    cut. We must search your things."

    They entered the house. The soldiers and the police-officer unstrapped
    Aksionov's luggage and searched it. Suddenly the officer drew a knife
    out of a bag, crying, "Whose knife is this?"

    Aksionov looked, and seeing a blood-stained knife taken from his bag,
    he was frightened.

    "How is it there is blood on this knife?"

    Aksionov tried to answer, but could hardly utter a word, and only
    stammered: "I--don't know--not mine." Then the police-officer said:
    "This morning the merchant was found in bed with his throat cut. You
    are the only person who could have done it. The house was locked from
    inside, and no one else was there. Here is this blood-stained knife in
    your bag and your face and manner betray you! Tell me how you killed
    him, and how much money you stole?"

    Aksionov swore he had not done it; that he had not seen the merchant
    after they had had tea together; that he had no money except eight
    thousand rubles of his own, and that the knife was not his. But his
    voice was broken, his face pale, and he trembled with fear as though
    he went guilty.

    The police-officer ordered the soldiers to bind Aksionov and to put
    him in the cart. As they tied his feet together and flung him into the
    cart, Aksionov crossed himself and wept. His money and goods were
    taken from him, and he was sent to the nearest town and imprisoned
    there. Enquiries as to his character were made in Vladimir. The
    merchants and other inhabitants of that town said that in former days
    he used to drink and waste his time, but that he was a good man. Then
    the trial came on: he was charged with murdering a merchant from
    Ryazan, and robbing him of twenty thousand rubles.

    His wife was in despair, and did not know what to believe. Her
    children were all quite small; one was a baby at her breast. Taking
    them all with her, she went to the town where her husband was in jail.
    At first she was not allowed to see him; but after much begging, she
    obtained permission from the officials, and was taken to him. When she
    saw her husband in prison-dress and in chains, shut up with thieves
    and criminals, she fell down, and did not come to her senses for a
    long time. Then she drew her children to her, and sat down near him.
    She told him of things at home, and asked about what had happened to
    him. He told her all, and she asked, "What can we do now?"

    "We must petition the Czar not to let an innocent man perish."

    His wife told him that she had sent a petition to the Czar, but it had
    not been accepted.

    Aksionov did not reply, but only looked downcast.

    Then his wife said, "It was not for nothing I dreamt your hair had
    turned grey. You remember? You should not have started that day." And
    passing her fingers through his hair, she said: "Vanya dearest, tell
    your wife the truth; was it not you who did it?"

    "So you, too, suspect me!" said Aksionov, and, hiding his face in his
    hands, he began to weep. Then a soldier came to say that the wife and
    children must go away; and Aksionov said good-bye to his family for
    the last time.

    When they were gone, Aksionov recalled what had been said, and when he
    remembered that his wife also had suspected him, he said to himself,
    "It seems that only God can know the truth; it is to Him alone we must
    appeal, and from Him alone expect mercy."

    And Aksionov wrote no more petitions; gave up all hope, and only
    prayed to God.

    Aksionov was condemned to be flogged and sent to the mines. So he was
    flogged with a knot, and when the wounds made by the knot were healed,
    he was driven to Siberia with other convicts.

    For twenty-six years Aksionov lived as a convict in Siberia. His hair
    turned white as snow, and his beard grew long, thin, and grey. All his
    mirth went; he stooped; he walked slowly, spoke little, and never
    laughed, but he often prayed.

    In prison Aksionov learnt to make boots, and earned a little money,
    with which he bought _The Lives of the Saints_. He read this book when
    there was light enough in the prison; and on Sundays in the
    prison-church he read the lessons and sang in the choir; for his voice
    was still good.

    The prison authorities liked Aksionov for his meekness, and his
    fellow-prisoners respected him: they called him "Grandfather," and
    "The Saint." When they wanted to petition the prison authorities about
    anything, they always made Aksionov their spokesman, and when there
    were quarrels among the prisoners they came to him to put things
    right, and to judge the matter.

    No news reached Aksionov from his home, and he did not even know if
    his wife and children were still alive.

    One day a fresh gang of convicts came to the prison. In the evening
    the old prisoners collected round the new ones and asked them what
    towns or villages they came from, and what they were sentenced for.
    Among the rest Aksionov sat down near the newcomers, and listened with
    downcast air to what was said.

    One of the new convicts, a tall, strong man of sixty, with a
    closely-cropped grey beard, was telling the others what be had been
    arrested for.

    "Well, friends," he said, "I only took a horse that was tied to a
    sledge, and I was arrested and accused of stealing. I said I had only
    taken it to get home quicker, and had then let it go; besides, the
    driver was a personal friend of mine. So I said, 'It's all right.'
    'No,' said they, 'you stole it.' But how or where I stole it they
    could not say. I once really did something wrong, and ought by rights
    to have come here long ago, but that time I was not found out. Now I
    have been sent here for nothing at all... Eh, but it's lies I'm
    telling you; I've been to Siberia before, but I did not stay long."

    "Where are you from?" asked some one.

    "From Vladimir. My family are of that town. My name is Makar, and they
    also call me Semyonich."

    Aksionov raised his head and said: "Tell me, Semyonich, do you know
    anything of the merchants Aksionov of Vladimir? Are they still alive?"

    "Know them? Of course I do. The Aksionovs are rich, though their
    father is in Siberia: a sinner like ourselves, it seems! As for you,
    Gran'dad, how did you come here?"

    Aksionov did not like to speak of his misfortune. He only sighed, and
    said, "For my sins I have been in prison these twenty-six years."

    "What sins?" asked Makar Semyonich.

    But Aksionov only said, "Well, well--I must have deserved it!" He
    would have said no more, but his companions told the newcomers how
    Aksionov came to be in Siberia; how some one had killed a merchant,
    and had put the knife among Aksionov's things, and Aksionov had been
    unjustly condemned.

    When Makar Semyonich heard this, he looked at Aksionov, slapped his
    _own_ knee, and exclaimed, "Well, this is wonderful! Really wonderful!
    But how old you've grown, Gran'dad!"

    The others asked him why he was so surprised, and where he had seen
    Aksionov before; but Makar Semyonich did not reply. He only said:
    "It's wonderful that we should meet here, lads!"

    These words made Aksionov wonder whether this man knew who had killed
    the merchant; so he said, "Perhaps, Semyonich, you have heard of that
    affair, or maybe you've seen me before?"

    "How could I help hearing? The world's full of rumours. But it's a
    long time ago, and I've forgotten what I heard."

    "Perhaps you heard who killed the merchant?" asked Aksionov.

    Makar Semyonich laughed, and replied: "It must have been him in whose
    bag the knife was found! If some one else hid the knife there, 'He's
    not a thief till he's caught,' as the saying is. How could any one put
    a knife into your bag while it was under your head? It would surely
    have woke you up."

    When Aksionov heard these words, he felt sure this was the man who had
    killed the merchant. He rose and went away. All that night Aksionov
    lay awake. He felt terribly unhappy, and all sorts of images rose in
    his mind. There was the image of his wife as she was when he parted
    from her to go to the fair. He saw her as if she were present; her
    face and her eyes rose before him; he heard her speak and laugh. Then
    he saw his children, quite little, as they: were at that time: one
    with a little cloak on, another at his mother's breast. And then he
    remembered himself as he used to be-young and merry. He remembered how
    he sat playing the guitar in the porch of the inn where he was
    arrested, and how free from care he had been. He saw, in his mind, the
    place where he was flogged, the executioner, and the people standing
    around; the chains, the convicts, all the twenty-six years of his
    prison life, and his premature old age. The thought of it all made him
    so wretched that he was ready to kill himself.

    "And it's all that villain's doing!" thought Aksionov. And his anger
    was so great against Makar Semyonich that he longed for vengeance,
    even if he himself should perish for it. He kept repeating prayers all
    night, but could get no peace. During the day he did not go near Makar
    Semyonich, nor even look at him.

    A fortnight passed in this way. Aksionov could not sleep at night, and
    was so miserable that he did not know what to do.

    One night as he was walking about the prison he noticed some earth
    that came rolling out from under one of the shelves on which the
    prisoners slept. He stopped to see what it was. Suddenly Makar
    Semyonich crept out from under the shelf, and looked up at Aksionov
    with frightened face. Aksionov tried to pass without looking at him,
    but Makar seized his hand and told him that he had dug a hole under
    the wall, getting rid of the earth by putting it into his high-boots,
    and emptying it out every day on the road when the prisoners were
    driven to their work.

    "Just you keep quiet, old man, and you shall get out too. If you blab,
    they'll flog the life out of me, but I will kill you first."

    Aksionov trembled with anger as he looked at his enemy. He drew his
    hand away, saying, "I have no wish to escape, and you have no need to
    kill me; you killed me long ago! As to telling of you--I may do so or
    not, as God shall direct."

    Next day, when the convicts were led out to work, the convoy soldiers
    noticed that one or other of the prisoners emptied some earth out of
    his boots. The prison was searched and the tunnel found. The Governor
    came and questioned all the prisoners to find out who had dug the
    hole. They all denied any knowledge of it. Those who knew would not
    betray Makar Semyonich, knowing he would be flogged almost to death.
    At last the Governor turned to Aksionov whom he knew to be a just man,
    and said:

    "You are a truthful old man; tell me, before God, who dug the hole?"

    Makar Semyonich stood as if he were quite unconcerned, looking at the
    Governor and not so much as glancing at Aksionov. Aksionov's lips and
    hands trembled, and for a long time he could not utter a word. He
    thought, "Why should I screen him who ruined my life? Let him pay for
    what I have suffered. But if I tell, they will probably flog the life
    out of him, and maybe I suspect him wrongly. And, after all, what good
    would it be to me?"

    "Well, old man," repeated the Governor, "tell me the truth: who has
    been digging under the wall?"

    Aksionov glanced at Makar Semyonich, and said, "I cannot say, your
    honour. It is not God's will that I should tell! Do what you like with
    me; I am your hands."

    However much the Governor! tried, Aksionov would say no more, and so
    the matter had to be left.

    That night, when Aksionov was lying on his bed and just beginning to
    doze, some one came quietly and sat down on his bed. He peered through
    the darkness and recognised Makar.

    "What more do you want of me?" asked Aksionov. "Why have you come
    here?"

    Makar Semyonich was silent. So Aksionov sat up and said, "What do you
    want? Go away, or I will call the guard!"

    Makar Semyonich bent close over Aksionov, and whispered, "Ivan
    Dmitrich, forgive me!"

    "What for?" asked Aksionov.

    "It was I who killed the merchant and hid the knife among your things.
    I meant to kill you too, but I heard a noise outside, so I hid the
    knife in your bag and escaped out of the window."

    Aksionov was silent, and did not know what to say. Makar Semyonich
    slid off the bed-shelf and knelt upon the ground. "Ivan Dmitrich,"
    said he, "forgive me! For the love of God, forgive me! I will confess
    that it was I who killed the merchant, and you will be released and
    can go to your home."

    "It is easy for you to talk," said Aksionov, "but I have suffered for
    you these twenty-six years. Where could I go to now?... My wife is
    dead, and my children have forgotten me. I have nowhere to go..."

    Makar Semyonich did not rise, but beat his head on the floor. "Ivan
    Dmitrich, forgive me!" he cried. "When they flogged me with the knot
    it was not so hard to bear as it is to see you now ... yet you had
    pity on me, and did not tell. For Christ's sake forgive me, wretch
    that I am!" And he began to sob.

    When Aksionov heard him sobbing he, too, began to weep. "God will
    forgive you!" said he. "Maybe I am a hundred times worse than you."
    And at these words his heart grew light, and the longing for home left
    him. He no longer had any desire to leave the prison, but only hoped
    for his last hour to come.

    In spite of what Aksionov had said, Makar Semyonich confessed, his
    guilt. But when the order for his release came, Aksionov was already
    dead.

    By Anonymous wormie, at 4/13/2006 06:24:00 PM  

  • we are clearly dealing with someone who is deeply disturbed...

    By Blogger amarc, at 4/13/2006 07:10:00 PM  

  • From the original Luxmundito mamacita: Ha ha ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha - what a pissa!!!!!!!!

    By Anonymous Luxmundto's mamacita, at 4/13/2006 08:31:00 PM  

  • i am going to amend my contribution from deviled eggs to champagne & mixer juices. once again, choosing money over time. sigh.

    By Blogger SaraS, at 4/15/2006 02:27:00 PM  

  • Let's say 12:00 at our place. See you soon.

    By Blogger kate, at 4/15/2006 07:09:00 PM  

  • where did everyone go?

    By Anonymous lux mundito, at 4/23/2006 11:27:00 PM  

  • lux, you scared everybody away.

    By Blogger paulwoody, at 4/24/2006 03:47:00 PM  

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