I have not been sleeping. Not much. And not at the regularly scheduled hours. So, my head is pounding, and I’m a little sick. Well, what do I expect? I haven’t been feeding my mitochondria, and that means every cell in my body is more or less hungry and cranky. Two O’Clock in the morning.
I hope nobody’s expecting great pictures, but today, I went to see the swans. Today, there are two more swans than there were, last time I was there, and they’re off the nest and swimming around. They’re domesticated swans, swimming in a man-made lake in the cemetery where one of my great-grandfathers is buried. (And
I work with one of those creative types. Always fidgeting with something crafty. Suzy Home-maker putting flowers and bees on chairs and bookshelves. I keep running into that question: What is art? And it bounces around in my mind. There’s a part of me that thinks it’s wholly a matter of taste. Whatever makes you