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Flip the breaker. I'm becoming a silence activist. Sit in the dark and don't say a word. Paying attention is a matter of manners. I know where I got that, I'm just a poor Southern boy at heart, and holding doors open is what you do. One thing I noticed at Chautauqua was that everybody held doors open for me. It was strange, actually. You observe behavior and follow the clues. It's easy enough to become part of the woodwork, just stay still and listen. Every aspiration is bullshit. The crows tell me that: they laugh at my folly. Whatever spun sugar recreation I could make of Gettysburg. That's just a play on the word 'folly' and doesn't mean anything. I don't know why but I decided biscuits and gravy would be a good thing. I had some left-over biscuits that I could toast, and being my Mother's son, I could make gravy. The sins of the Father. Biscuits with sausage gravy have always seemed almost sinful to me, and needing to suffer is certainly a large part of religion, so I can understand avoiding temptation. However, I'm gleeful, reheating the last of the left-overs, because I see veal shanks in my future. I've been lazy for a couple of days, drinking tea and reading. I had read, months ago, an essay on salt which that had led me to something else and then there was a second reference to an article, which I finally tracked down. "Newly Acquired Precultural Behavior of the Natural Troop of Japanese Monkeys on Koshima Islet." An interesting study. A batch of monkeys, and the scientists wanted to observe them, and to keep them around in a more limited area, they, the scientists, tossed out chunks of sweet potato. The monkeys would rinse off the dirt and one of them discovered that rinsing them off in the ocean added a delightful salty tang. This one female taught the next generation about dipping their food into salt-water, now everybody's doing it. It's like kale and yoga pants, some things are just better. Hours later, still thinking about salt, I make potatoes and an omelet.