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
Slim in pillows
Friday, May 11, 2012
WHUT ES BRAK-FUST?
David showed up for breakfast as usual this morning. For a bit of a twist, she brought her children. This was their first outing to the table (straw bale) and they could not have been less interested. Nancy stood watch while her unnamed siblings (Who? and Who?) wrestled. They paid no attention to the dish set before their mother of strange crunchy tidbits. "Gib us duh milk!"