Blow blow thou winter winds... I realize that I am ploughing a lonely and narrow furrow here, in suggesting that one should aim for higher things, to grow old gracefully, to be, as every woman ought to be, the woman first, the artiste afterwards. Excused, of course, may be those poor woman in want, who tread the boards for the sake of old parents, or the improvident husband and the sickly babies at home.
Tootler writes: As to Shiamsa, her posts read like a 17th century Puritan's guide to godly living for the housewife.
I can only say, what's wrong with 17th century Puritans? When Cromwell came here (Dublin) he closed all the theatres and outlawed the musicians, because they were "emptying the churches, perpetuating pagan custom, distorting truth, showing forth profane, seditious, and bawdy stories, teaching knavery and lechery, causing God to visit the plague on London, leading youth into idleness and extravagance, affording meeting places for harlots and customers, aiding the Pope, and corrupting maidens and chaste wives." Seems like a good enough reason for me.
Back to my knitting...