Well, I have been doing things, but they're none of them anywhere close to being ready for public presentation. So . . . no news today.
Perhaps I shall spend the day working on my never-to-be-published children's book If You Give A Moose A Beer . . . ("He's going to want to have a chaser to go with it. Then he's going to want to go down to the tavern for another six-pack. When he comes out, he's going to have a big sack of money and the tappie is going to be shooting at him." And so on.)
A Certain Somebody
. . . has requested that his medical condition not be blogged. It's a futile gesture, but so be it. I am a respecter of people's wishes. So all I shall say here and now is that there appears to be no bad news.
And As Always
. . . the poem du jour continues. Most recently, Theodore Roethke's secrets cried alout.