I didn't like beards fifty odd years ago, when they were the insignia of the dad in New Yorker's cartoon. I think the current sprouting of dark facial hair is now, as then, indicative of a lazy turn of mind and disinclination to find a neater way to avoid shaving.
And if junior Trump is listening, your facial hair turns my stomach. So did your face.
The suppression of the revelation by two of the major news sources notwithstanding, I got down to work. I would have set to work in any event, and actually was very pleased that ABC and NBC flipped off a Trump.
Delivery of my towels is scheduled for Sunday. I have the loom wound on again, and the second batch of towels set to come off tomorrow. Today I hemmed a lovely pile of melon colored towels. Warm, summer cantelope. The towels to be off tomorrow are lilac.
I've spent part of the week playing. After thirty plus years in this town, I went to my Methodists' election day dinner. I invited Lynn and Jim, who were seated across from a couple who also attend E.J. Thomas musicals, but who they had not met. I sat across from Sig, who worked for the road department when I started. How much I learned about roads from Sig and Tim, the road super. It was a great meal on all accounts.
It was a very good election, too. For the third consecutive year, Trump failed to produce the votes he promised. Enough of that for now, back to towels tomorrow.