So, according to www.brainyhistory.com, one of my favorite websites, John Lafarge, a swellegant painter, was born on this day in 1835. And 97 years later, in 1932, 150 wild swans died at Niagara Falls.
Trivia, I know this is. Lots more important things there are to know, but I'm thinking that I'll be thinking of those swans tomorrow, in April, when March is as gone as Mr. Lafarge.
A cranky, quirky, funny dame, a cronette, divided in demeanor between fizzy optimism and dispirited melancholy (I treat the latter with new projects, the latest being an early-18th century gentleman's coat that I sewed for myself out of a length of blue denim, decorated w/ brass buttons.) An entertaining speaker I am, to many a gym or library full of students, a fine writer about dead people and things historical, a middling harmonica player and illustrator of many a book, 40 or so & counting.