Don’t forget to vote today. If you don’t you could end up with someone’s mangy hands all over your exposed bosom, and that’s not even the worst of it. Death be always to tyrants, and let me decide what to do with my own bosoms (and everything else) thankyouverymuch.
Little by little the bird feathers its nest, and object by heart burnished object we surround ourselves with lovely necessities of memory and function. It is these things that make a silly Apartment a Home or a silly Wednesday an Occasion.
Whether my nest is an old farmhouse, a sixth floor tenement walk up, or a brownstone basement... whether I share it with family, vagabonds, women of heart and mind, or a little brown cat and a sweet ginger banjo, my principal joy is filling it with light and laughter (and corralling).
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