I once had a calligraphy instructor who told the story about a painter who painted and painted and burned her practice paintings. She had a lot of ashes. . . which was good, because that meant she was doing a lot of painting. I think she kept the ashes in a clear jar on a shelf somewhere.
So today is what I call an "ash day." Except that I don't have ashes in a... glass... jar -- oh, wait; now that I think about it, we do have Pickles' ashes in a crystal jar in the garage loft (along with the unfiled John crap and seasonal decorations).
Muriel continues to be an irritant.