|Dooney & Bourke knitting bag from dear friend Pam|
|See? There's the proof!!! Who knew?|
It's the end of the week and what a loooooonnnnngggg week it's been. Time turns elastic, I believe.
Snow is expected tonight. That's hilarious. Time rolls back on itself, too.
Two weeks to Paris! That's hard to believe. Zig has done a fantastic job of organizing, by arrondisement, daily trips out and about. There are a few limiting factors as to which day we'll do what, but not many, other than weather and museum closings. I can taste the banana/Nutella crepes already!
It just occurred to me that yesterday's poetic excerpt should have been held back until April. But March can be cruel, too - witness the weather forecast.
Why is it that work and stress almost always go hand-in-hand? Nothing more to say on that front...
Dinner with Becky and George at the Old Riverton Inn, which reopens for the season tonight. It's always a delicious meal - we try to go there once a month. The Inn holds memories of quite a few wedding rehearsal dinners, retirement parties, wedding parties, Christmas parties, and the like, over the last quarter-century. We even stayed there on our wedding night, way back in June of 1982.
Here is a lovely, simple poem from Stanley Moss. I hope I remember it when I am 85.
I sing this morning: Hello, hello.
I proclaim the bright day of the soul.
The sun is a good fellow,
the devil is a good guy, no deaths today I know.
I live because I live. I do not die because I cannot die.
In Tuscan sunlight Masaccio
painted his belief that St. Peter’s shadow
cured a cripple, gave him back his sight.
I’ve come through eighty-five summers. I walk in sunlight.
In my garden, death questions every root, flowers reply.
I know the dark night of the soul
does not need God’s eye,
as a beggar does not need a hand or a bowl.