Rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated.

I’m fairly certain that line is attributable to Mark Twain. If not, then I beg his indulgence posthumously. Posthumously? Yes, him, not me. Lest I resurrect the rumor,…or commence one.

Now, where was I going with this? All this talk about resurrection and posthumousness. Is my reader old enough to remember Resurrection City? 3,000 wooden tents crowded the National Mall in Washington DC. It was the culmination of the Poor People’s March lead by Martin Luther King. Dark days, they were in 1968.

That’s right. And here I only intended an observation of the winter! The stubbornness of the temperature, that is. Let’s not forget, however. Winter is doing what winter does. It’ll be over soon. You’re ever so lucky to have a touch of Cabin Fever! The alternative is well beyond worse.

Pardon my scattered mind.