"Hail to a Mott Street friend,
Hale fell at my journey's end.
From this cup we'll drink some tea,
And then old friend, it belongs to thee."
I'm back in civilization, sitting here at the computer, re-united with the web. . . Ah our addictions! The web is certainly one of them.
The drive back from upstate New York was lovely, until 30 miles from new Haven, all hell broke loose. Hale fell from the sky. I had to pull over, along a wooded road in Connecticut. I tried to pick a spot where a tree wouldn't fall on us. So much water fell out of the sky, I began to wonder - what are the theoretical limits of precipitation?
The hail stones kept getting bigger and bigger! I rolled down the car window and stuck my arm outside. Ouch!
I come home to find that an old friend, a neighbor from my 302 Mott Street days in New York, has said she wants this cup.
I'm thrilled.
