So, a bright cold day without, rather dreary within. Does it matter that I neglected to post here yesterday that it was another in a long line of anniversaries of the births of Somerset Maugham & Virginia Woolf? Or that Maria von Trapp, that steel-belted songstress would've been 106 today? Not one jot and how that trio would've rolled their eyes at this fussy little habit, at the dry little life thereby suggested. Off & away I go to mend this situation because I've seen where this path leads. Go for a walk & watch my step. Come inside, make hot tea. Find some music, turn it up loud. ..spread out clean, new lengths of dark blue cotton and cut out some pieces, sew them together. Terribly bright & funny I can be when I'm talking to strangers. Alone w/myself - that's another story altogether.