Libby's life, if she were to tell the story of us at a museum, is her moving on while I spend inordinate amounts of time at each thing one can look at, and then taking a dozen pictures of that one thing. This is neither entirely true, nor entirely false. The point is, she (and my father) suffered greatly today for waiting so patiently for me to see what I want at my pace. In short, they deserve a vacation from my vacation. Today we went to the Roman Baths. The religious day-spa since time immemorial. The place where you show off to others with your fancy oils, and obscenely large cleaning retinue. The place where you get your bathing cloak stolen, and then have your scribe deposit a curse to Minerva about that Philisia stealing your cloak (you just know it) and passing it off as her own. Today though, the baths were full of normal folks, small children, and women who should not be trying to---why are you wearing such high heels on these old paving stones! Don't you know...