Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player That struts and frets his hour upon the stage And then is heard no more: it is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing. -- Macbeth, Act 5, Scene 5
Frankie and Slim
Monday, December 12, 2005
Lasting Tradition
The snowman picture is of one of my favorite Christmas decorations. I mentioned to mother several years ago how much I had loved her cotton snowman. She would put it out each year and fluff it up until it finally disappeared. A week or so after I had mentioned this to mother, the children and I returned home from a long day at work and school. There on the table was a brand new snowman made by my mother's loving hands. Mother smiled with satisfaction of holiday preparation.
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