Sitting in my newly organized, tidied, House-and-Gardened living room (see above), listening to Beethoven, the Sonata for Violin and Piano in F, Op. 24 ("Spring").   I have that delicious convalescent feeling, frailty borne with a light spirit; I feel as though I'm transparent. My thorny roommate equation, which had vexed until now both muggins … Continue reading Geezerdämmerung →