I would much rather that I be about Idiom, but then I'd have to pull out a bunch of books and run by favourite examples. That's the hardest part of learning a foreign language - not the irregular verbs, but the idioms. The majority of them do not translate well, that is, the meanings of the words are too practical and do not translate to the meaning of the idiom = the sum total of the separate parts.

When I get involved in an explanation like this, I arm reminded of a lesson for writers. I think this is apocryphal but it's fun. I never saw it on any course but I did hear of one result of the question: "Without using your hands, describe an accordion." My counter question would be "Without using your hands, explain how to fold a fitted sheet." The result, perhaps a myth, is that one wannabe writer got so good at descriptions of this nature that he ended up writing instructions on packages.. Ah, the romance of merchandise!

We've used up our spare parts in the service of effective description.

Still trying to catch up. Gettin' there. More anon.

ANON, adverb, archaic or informal : soon; shortly; I'll see you anon. ORIGIN Old English on ān‘into one’, on āne‘in one’. The original sense was ‘in or into one state, course, etc.’, which developed into the temporal sense ‘at once’. But there is no sense of immediacy in anon - not the way I use it, anyway. So..

Next morning. So it's really the 29th, almost the end of November, and I still have to write my generic Christmas letter.

I slept on it which is why it's now the next morning. It's a tough assignment. Because H is for Happy. Ay, there's the rub. In the world view, I am certainly (supposed to be) happy. I'm certainly not in the fabled one-percent who own most of the world. but I am at least in the two percent of the population who is fed, sheltered, safe, secure and healthy. Every time I begin to feel sorry for myself (various aches and pains, weariness, money worries, qualms about the future), I remind myself of Friar Lawrence's chiding of Romeo (in R&J) reminding that lovesick boy how lucky he is:

What, rouse thee, man! Thy Juliet is alive,

For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead—

There art thou happy. Tybalt would kill thee,

But thou slew’st Tybalt—there art thou happy.

The law that threatened death becomes thy friend

And turns it to exile—there art thou happy.

A pack of blessings light upon thy back,

Happiness courts thee in her best array.

So what has he got to complain about? For the moment, okay, but look what awaits him at the end of the play. If he only knew.

And that, of course makes me think of poor, mad Ophelia who had more troubles than I have - and look what happened to her.

"They say the owl was a baker’s daughter.

Lord, we know what we are, but know not what we may be."

So - no generic letter today, I mean yesterday, at least, not yet. Maybe today, because it is today already. Stay with me.