Every day I bog down after a while and lose my native hue of resolution. (It gets sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, very pale.) But when I bog down in a blog, that's when I know I'm in deep trouble. It's not that I don't have a lot to say. Don't you find that every single thing you do brings up entire links, also known as memories, to an old-timer like me, that is, associations and flashes illuminating whatever you are doing? Some of them really are illuminating, revealing meanings you didn't know, hadn't thought of before.

"Oh, I see," said the blind carpenter as he picked up his hammer and saw.

Of course, that leads me to puns and to the first one I ever understood. My uncle had a drugstore and there was a rack of postcards at the front for tourists. One of them read, "I pine for yew, and balsam." It took me a while, but I finally got it. i guess I was about six or seven, the same age when I got annoyed that an address could read "Winnipeg, Man" but not Winnipeg, Woman." Unfair!

The nice thing about blogs, about a blog like mine, is that I can free-wheel and roam around and try to connect dots. The bad thing is: I'm in deep trouble. Can anyone read this?