I'll do all my normal New Year's blog stuff soon enough: my 2019 book list,
perhaps a resolution or two, but I'm too tired for that today. We drove all the way back from Staunton this morning, and while there wasn't any traffic (
unlike the way there) it was still a five and a half hour haul, and I don't do very well in enclosed spaces.
Anyway, the house was still intact and there was a good omen for the New Year in the backyard: what seems to be an exploded/spontaneously combusted bird. No carcass, just feathers.
If you know how to read pattern, you can predict the 2020 presidential election. It's certainly obvious to me, but I don't want to ruin it for anyone.
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