Tracked down the last of 748 footnotes this morn.
(In Quincy Adams’s diaries)
Bought a white chocolate-pumpkin scone on the way home
Mmm
Seventy-nine degrees–a thermometric record
We stood over the first violets of the spring as I read N.P. Willis’s “April”
(“I love to go in the capricious days of April and hunt violets”)
Then Gretel said, “Dad, let’s play catch.”
This perfect day!
Gretel, dear. Go easy on the old man. Poor sod just tracked down the last of 748 footnotes. Throw to his glove hand if you can.
(Eighty plus here in RI, Bill, and it’s good to see you back. Daffodils are smilin’ at the sun. Happy Easter to ye!)
And yet it was 70 at most here in Phoenix. The mysteries of April weather.
Congrats on finishing those footnotes, Bill. Just a few more months until you and Rick Perry are drinking Lone Stars together on the patio of the Tejas gov’nor’s manse.
Governor’s mansion, Mr. Beer? Can’t we at least hold out hope that it will be on the front porch of the president’s mansion of the Republic of Texas?
Jeez, JB, I’d pulp the damned book if it led to something that awful.
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