Sunday March 10th 2013
OK. It's all about Forsythia bloom, Cedar Gall, and
the morning after hangover from an excess of exertion that gave shine to
the shovel. These past months I have not been saintly, I have
pontificated through the valley of sloth and I have feared no evil.
I now have a waddle Sumo
Wrestlers might envy. My hands are soft, my elegant wrists limp from
daintiness, my wing and knee in so terrible a revolt I firmly believe they
will shortly secede.