If someone was tending the door (if we even had a 'door') they'd be making apologies for the old gal. "She a bit pooped from the party-going, revel-rousing, and chats on the stoop. Please don't get it wrong now, Miz Bloom (that's her Family Name) loved, loved loved every minute. It's just that her Play Button wears out of battery power at her stage, on her stage. So do come another day. In a day, two or three Miz Cordelia Camilia Bloom will be re-charged and happy to join you once more." Seventy-two is a fit time to lay tracks for a new version of criss-crossing the borders, and joining forces with the stories and story tellers who create tale bones on us human beasties. This is part of the plan simmering .... connecting and solidifying stories. From Myth for my Tale Bone , there sprang a gal partial to purple, dead set against cold. Reading between the lines, dear reader, this story begins in winter and cold (damp and moldy) are a trio to reckon
Cordelia Camilia was partial to purple Dead set against cold When push comes to shout The old gal held her own. A Blog written for the joy and pains of life after Seventy, and the Time Travel of Myth-making in all its complexity.