Oh by the way, folks,
Today we wish a fond Happy Birthday to George Martin, born in 1926. He's a musician and record producer, the producer of several of the Beatles' albums. (Or albi or albae, or whatever's the proper Latin plural of album.)
Yesterday nothing happened. The drug store had my prescription eye drops for my upcoming cataract surgery which isn't until way into February anyhow, so it's in plenty of time.
It snowed a bit last night, on top of rain, so the stroll out front to get my newspaper in was more fun than I had hardly hoped for. Slipperier than oyster juice on a glass doorknob.
Oh well, no broken bones as far as I can tell so far.
And so today I intend to do absolutely nothing as long as I can get away with indulging in such debaucherous indolence.
Signs of life