The best and worst of times . . .

Saturday, February 7, 2026. It's Satyr's day . . . Moderate Southerlies are in the forecasts for TulseyTown this afternoon. Sun, clouds and upper 60's.

Charles Dickens was born on this day in 1812, Portsmouth, Hampshire, England.

It's Sinclair Lewis' birthday. The Nobel Laureate for Literature was born in 1885, Sauk Centre, Minnesota.

It's the birthday of Laura Ingalls Wilder, writer and author of “Little House on the Prarie,” was born near 1867 Pepin, Wisconsin.

And, the sainted Sir Thomas More was born today in 1478, London, England.

While Republicans are trying to hide what the administration is up to, Democrats are demanding accountability from the Trump administration. Necessarily ugly. – Heather Cox Richardson, in Letters From An American.

[Trump] is using hate and horror to expand his control over people, both American citizens and immigrants, on American soil. Are we the Nazis now? – Joyce Vance, in Civil Discourse.

Robert Reich gets personal answering some of our FAQ's.

After Rilke – and in memory of Thich Nhat Hanh

Sometimes songs seem to come from

the outside edge of the world.

Inheriting the autumn, the memories of poets

and all the winters where images are gathered

are given back to that eternity. Songsters, poets

painters, carvers live the enduring feminine alone

bringing suffering along with laughter, as do lovers:

those poets of one brief hour. We who create do so

in the name of the longing unnamable,

searching for the face we had before the one

we see in the mirror contradicting our intentions.

To them, to You, we give ourselves; blind, deaf and mute,

unable to contain the best of our things and thoughts

filling tearful eyes as we awake

in stranger's arms.

– jab