I have a theory that I am susceptible to praise.
Like if hundreds of readers said "I love all your Bob Dylan posts. Please do more!" I might write more Bob Dylan posts.
Likewise if a hundred readers wanted me to talk more about shelving books.
But hundreds of readers have never really done anything around here.
I guess that's their prerogative.
For six years I observed, with an almost religious adherence, the daily brief essay, an old school, blog-like devotion. I wrote, for all to see, if they wanted to. I also talked about my library a lot, cheese occasionally, Bernini, music, politics, god, especially noting his shortcomings, publishing. management, books, movies, turkeys, weather, well, I kind of spread out. I wrote for the masses and for you personally.
You're so welcome.
In the pandemic I started the pandemic rules. They were a kind of anything goes approach to my blog for awhile. They even included the heresy of taking pictures. They're okay, the pictures, but, like with everything I have ever done, I expected 100 people to weigh in.
"I don't want to see a magnolia! Tell me about drinking Chartreuse with Bob Dylan!"
"But what's going on with the curbside pickup at your library. I can look at squirrels on my own!"
"Tell me again how the local governmental systems echo the federal, Trumpian one."
These and many other things have not appeared in my comments.
Oddly that has sort of worked out to my advantage.
So here are some flowers:
Brace yourself, this one will be a different color:
This one is on a river!
They call this one a "close-up":
Actually, I guess I might as well just show you them all:
There's always more flowers!
And, if you have a favorite, let me know. There's absolutely nothing I can do about it.