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,
-- Macbeth, Act 5, Scene 5
I am getting ready for our housekeeper to come tomorrow. Her name is Lili and not Hazel, but I absolutely could not do without her. Ron finds it humorous how hard I work to get things ready for the housekeeper. (I know some of you know what I mean.)
This morning I am thinking about Hope's last visit. Her mother told her not to get in the way because Granny's "maid" would be here working. Hope ran in the house with such excitement and wanted to meet Lili right away. I introduced them and watched Hope grow quiet and shy.
A while later I saw Hope pouting. "What is wrong?" I inquired.