Finished The Courtier. In fact would have finished it last night but I hit a section where the gentlemen are remarking on the current Perfect Princes of which they have such hope, and I had to google around to see what happened to them. The future Francis I, certainly. The future Charles V was certainly successful. The future Henry VIII, nope. And Federico Gonzaga, the son of Isabella d'Este- dead at 40 from syphilis inherited from his father. (Wiki says the notion that Henry VIII had syphilis "has been dismissed by most historians". Henry would seem to have been one of the very few.)
Went to the Beaches, a section of town in the east end whose residents, I'm told, call it the Beach. I being a westerner use the plural because there are three of them. To be precise, I was driven there, because otherwise it's a long slow journey on the Queen streetcar: which is why I haven't been in that end of the world since 1990.
Made my fish and mushroom and asparagus pilaff. Lacking wine to poach the fish, used lemonade. Worked wonderfully. Then weeded and trimmed bushes in the garden, amid the scent of lilacs and lily-of-the-valley. Classic May evening following classic May day- followed of course by classic May 24 fireworks.
