If you’re looking for some music to welcome in the new year, may I suggest “Spring” from Ailbhe McDonagh’s Irish Seasons? I love the whole work, but that’s (obviously) the place to start.
Six carved panels in a reclaimed window — a work for spring, that also represents the Annunciation. (More birds singing Bach. My birds always sing Bach.)
You’re going to get AI whether you like it or not, because that’s where the money is.
Made a soup for lunch involving yellow-eye beans and butternut squash with fresh thyme, rosemary, and olive oil and I really cannot decide whether I like it. I think it’s growing on me. If this sounds good to you feel free to stop by, I have plenty.
The ability to dig up a quotation from 10, 100, or 1000 years ago containing a criticism or prediction that parallels some contemporary argument, and observe that “history” proved that prior criticism false, is not an argument about what action to take in the present. The moral of “The Boy Who Cried Wolf” is not that because the boy was untrustworthy, the wolf never came.
Birds-eye speedwell and henbit deadnettle. They’re not ostentatious but they’re everywhere around here. And they have ludicrous names.
The Trugreen truck with its motto “Live Life Outside” never seems to be parked in front of a house where people actually do live life outside. In fact it’s more or less the opposite.