Hello my follower! Not a peep from Holiday House for my Legend of the Rabbit’s Foot . . . a very dismal sign, which perfectly complements the weather this winter. We had a gorgeous snow fall yesterday though. And soon it will be time to take a small trip down to FL to listen to General Abrahamson of Star Wars fame speak about the future of space exploration, which is interesting; however, I take pause: Shouldn’t we clean up the millions of pieces of debris floating around up there in the sacred realm of diamonds on black velvet before we gleefully launch little red cars as though we’re a bunch of kids in preschool? And –blending paragraphs here– how will we ever clean up the proliferation of guns now that so many have been purchased easily and widely? This comment on the heels of yet another horrific school shooting . . . in Florida only a few hours from the place I have loved where the orange trees are all dying from an invasion of HLB (Huang Long Bing, or Greening) a systemic disease spread by minuscule bugs. Groves are sprayed in the middle of the night, which sounds like an SST is landing on the roof and goes on for hours. Sometimes more than once during the night. Urethane, one of the chief ingredients of the insecticide, makes it stick to the trees and ground. The trees look dark and stiff. And they die anyway. Meanwhile, the spraying goes on: Thiamethoxam poison spreads through the air. I can smell it. It frightens me. I pull the sheet up over my nose; the prevailing breeze casts over our apartment, which I remind myself I am incredibly lucky to enjoy while I worry: maybe not? —-Thanks for listening to me whine as I fall off the end of this embarrassingly self-inflated paragraph.