Yesterday, John Hancock’s birthday, was National Handwriting Day. A new personal holiday of mine, because I love handwriting. Here is a sample of the outside of a letter, written in 1790 by Treasury Secretary Hamilton. It looks like he spent some time on pretty calligraphy and flourishes, then signed his name at the bottom, as usual failing to cross the t.

His handwriting was so polished that he was appointed to the style committee at the Constitutional Convention, where his neat script lists the states beside each delegate signature.

Speaking of the Constitutional Convention, this morning I started reading “Madison’s Gift,” because apparently I cannot drag myself away from 18th century history books. I’m imagining James Madison standing beside Hamilton and wow, that must have been an amusing contrast for all witnesses. “Small and quiet, with a receding hairline and pale blue eyes, [Madison] usually dressed in black. He generated no sexual tension, tending to disappear at social gatherings, his reserve sometimes mistaken for hostility or rudeness.” In other words, every shy introvert ever… *raises hand*. I feel your pain, little James Madison! Though since my youth I have more or less grown out of my shyness, thank goodness.

In other news, the goddamn furnace isn’t working, again, and the house is freezing. I dread having to call the service person, and I think maybe if I just keep trying to restart the system, it will remember how to work again. Meanwhile, it’s 61 degrees in here.