Sound and fury, signifying nothing. I'm too lazy right now (makes sense, I should have been asleep for at least an hour by now) to look up the actual quote from that Scottish play.
Actually, since tomorrow will be today by the time this post is published, I'll just let you know. I'm going to my state capital on Saturday. I haven't been there in quite some time. One of our presidents lived there for a long time. For some reason, even though he's been dead for going on 150 years, people still like to go to his old house. Like me. One thing I do remember from the last time I visited was that the trees in front of the place are never allowed to get bigger than a certain size. I guess they rip them out and plant new ones when they get too big. The idea (I think) is to preserve the look of the property as closely as possible as to when the man lived there. It reminds me of the Victorian practice of "enbalming a room". When someone would die in that era, people would stop the clock in the room, keep the bedclothes peeled back, and not touch anything in the room ever again. And yet time continues on. Dust gathers, spiderwebs (alas) grow ever larger, and those who cling to a memory will, in time, fade into memory themselves. I have nothing against preserving artifacts, rooms, buildings, etc., especially for historical purposes. I do have a problem with carrying the process so far that it includes the destruction of natural life.
On that note, good night.
14 hours ago