Strange women lying in ponds distributing swords

I found a dinner on my porch tonight when I got in, which is strange because... where did it come from? Roast turkey with gravy, turnip greens and beets, fried chicken salad, a fourth of cornbread, a banana and one cookie. In a styrofoam cooler, all on ice, at the foot of my front door, with no note.

Auditions went well. You know how I say there's always a crisis when it comes to audition days? Well there is, a different one each time. I think I could distill each crisis into a one-sentence summary and write them all down for you in a list, chronologically. Or better yet, lay them next to each other, sentence after sentence, head-to-toe, and watch them form a thirty-something sentence story - a record of the evolving sense of humor of St. Ella, Our Lady of the Rialto, and patron saint of Audition Day. This time the crisis was: Two flaky singers I'd asked to perform tried (and failed) to de-commit themselves at the last minute.

Today's work here at the Nunnery is brought to you by the letter F, which is the first letter of many useful phrases and sentences, as for instance: Flaky people will flake.