...to the last syllable of recorded time. A man named William Shakespeare wrote that more than 400 years ago and put it into the mouth of Macbeth, who was thane of Glamis and thane of Cawdor if memory serves. The entire speech is rather depressing, a real downer. The whole play is not exactly a comedy either.
Fast away the old year may indeed have passed, but the new year (2025, if I'm not mistaken) is getting off to a slow start, postwise. It's already January 4th and I haven't written a single thing. Well, I did put a grocery list together, but I don't think that counts.
The young'uns tied the knot on New Year's Eve right on schedule and headed off to Florida the next day. Now that the hoopla has died down, nothing suitable for blogging has presented itself. I refuse to blog about terrorist attacks in New Orleans or cybertruck explosions in Las Vegas or behind-the-scenes arm-twisting that made an almost failed election of a Speaker of the House of Representatives into a rousing victory for truth, justice, and the American way.
Yesterday our younger son brought over a pot of homemade soup for us that contained chicken, kielbasa, carrots, onions, celery, collard greens, and as Andy Griffith used to say, I don't know what all. It turned out to be delicious!
I will have even less time to compose blogposts this year because of the gift I received from our older son at Christmas. He gave me a one-year subscription to Storyworth. I will receive an email asking me a question every week for the next 52 weeks; I am to write a story from my life in response to the question and email it back to Storyworth. At the end of the year, a book containing all of my responses will be created. I am looking fowatd to doing this but am also a bit intimidated.
I think I am afraid it will be a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
