Well, I've finished one more of my mouse pad inserts - SpringTeddy.









I have one more "seasonal" pattern to do, then another not connected pattern and I can parcel them up and get them on their way.

In my last blog I mentioned Sara, the little girl I sponsor in El Salvadore. I scanned her picture this morning -





It's not the best picture, but it's the latest one I have. She is 5, will be 6 in February and Ive been sponsoring her since she was 3. I was connected to her through Compassion Canada (http://www.compassion.ca) as I like the way they work best of all the organizations out there.

Have an appointment with the vet this afternoon for Snowy - I think he has an eye infection poor baby, the skin around the eye is all pink and there is an excess of fluid. Snowy does not like his carry cage, so there is always a lot of drama when he has to be taken anywhere.

And my dentist just called - my appointment has been moved up to tomorrow afternoon from the 9th. It's just a cleaning, thank goodness, so we might as well get it over with.

Jonathan Swift's

A Description of the Morning

Now hardly here and there an hackney coach
Appearing, showed the ruddy morn's approach.
Now Betty from her master's bed had flown,
And softly stole to discompose her own;
The slipshod 'prentice from his master's door
Had pared the dirt, and sprinkled round the floor.
Now Moll had whirled her mop with dextrous airs,
Prepared to scrub the entry and the stairs.
The youth with broomy stumps began to trace
The kennel's edge, where wheels had worn the place.
The small-coal man was heard with cadence deep,
Till drowned in shriller notes of chimney sweep:
Duns at his lordship's gate began to meet;
And brickdust Moll had screamed through half the street.
The turnkey now his flock returning sees,
Duly let out a-nights to steal for fees:
The watchful bailiffs take their silent stands,
And schoolboys lag with satchels in their hands.

Well, it's been a sort of "finish up" weekend. Yesterday I got the storeroom packed away and resorted and all of a sudden I have this big open space and you can actually move in there. The cats are thrilled - new places to explore and jump on.

Also yesterday, Michelle and I went for our end of month lunch. She's the owner of Sisters where I work and the last Saturday of every month we go for lunch and talk about the next month's schedule, ideas for increasing business and just what's happening in our lives in general. It's a relaxing time and we try all the different restaurants. Yesterday was Dolly's Fish Market (http://www.dollysfishmarket.com) which is a favourite. They do the best chowders - actually the whole menu is delicious. I indulged in the Seafood Pasta - penne with halibut, large shrimp and scallops. Yum!

This morning I worked on Sisters books and got everything up-to-date. They are not complicated, but I do need to be able to concentrate, which some days means shutting the cats OUT.

And I spent some time writing to Sara, a little girl I sponsor in El Salvadore. I've been remiss in my letter writing and I thought I better get back to it before she thinks I've forgotten her! It's really a fun thing to do once you work out what to talk about with a not quite 6 year old who lives in a place you've never seen. And I love getting her letters back - she always sends me a drawing.

Samuel Johnson again.

A Short Song of Congratulation

Long-expected one and twenty
Ling'ring year at last has flown,
Pomp and pleasure, pride and plenty,
Great Sir John are all your own.

Loosened from the minor's tether;
Free to mortgage or to sell,
Wild as wind and light as feather
Bid the slaves of thrift farewell.

Call the Bettys, Kates and Jennys
Every name that laughs at care,
Lavish of your grandsire's guineas,
Show the spirit of an heir.

All that prey on vice and folly
Joy to see their quarry fly:
Here the gamester light and jolly,
There the lender grave and sly.

Wealth, Sir John, was made to wander,
Let it wander as it will;
See the jockey, see the pander,
Bid them come, and take their fill.

When the bonny blade carouses,
Pockets full, and spirits high,
What are acres? what are houses?
Only dirt, or wet or dry.

If the guardian or the mother
Tell the woes of wilful waste,
Scorn their counsel and their pother,
You can hang or drown at last.

Obviously S.J. was not expecting good things from this young man, whoever he was.

Wild Animal Visit

Well, it did snow! Not a huge amount, but enough to get everyone nervous about driving. It is gorgeous to look at though, especially when you're inside a warm house, knowing you don't have to go out! LOL

A lovely buck - not a young one if I "read" his antlers right - came to have a nap on the front lawn and for some reason the cats just ignored him. Normally they would be hissing and spitting - after all, it's THEIR property. But they just stared at each other through the window, then everyone went back to sleep. The dachshunds upstairs were not so calm, but the deer just ignored their yapping.

Garry finished his drywalling yesterday, so now I can repack and reorganize my store room. I think it will be a weekend project as it's supposed to warm up some. Right now it's just a little too chilly in there.

This is by Samuel Johnson and just a note - "officious" at the time this poem was written meant "kind".

On the Death of Mr. Robert Levet, a Practiser in Physic

Condemned to Hope's elusive mine,
As on we toil from day to day,
By sudden blasts and slow decline
Our social comforts drop away.

Well tried through many a varying year,
See Levet to the grave descend;
Officious, innocent, sincere,
Of every friendless name the friend.

Yet still he fills affections eye,
Obscurely wise and coarsely kind;
Nor, lettered Arrogance, deny
They praise to merit unrefined.

When fainting nature called for aid,
And hovering death prepared the blow,
His vigorous remedy displayed
The power of art without the show.

In Misery's darkest cavern known,
His useful care was ever nigh,
Where hopeless Anguish poured his groan,
And lonely want retired to die.

No summons mocked by chill delay,
No petty gain disdained by pride;
The modest wants of every day
The toil of every day supplied.

His virtues walked their narrow round,
Nor made a pause, nor left a void;
And sure the Eternal Master found
The single talent well employed.

The busy day, the peaceful night,
Unfelt, uncounted, glided by;
His fame was firm--his powers were bright,
Though now his eightieth year was nigh.

Then with no fiery throbbing pain,
No cold gradations of decay,
Death broke at once the vital chain,
And freed his soul the nearest way.

November 22

Well, I'm backing stitching merrily again - my thumb no longer aches and I have to get these mouse pads finished. I have another section ready for back stitching and then, hopefully only one more day of good stitching time and #3 will be done.

It is VERY cold here - for us. Compared to those who get temperatures in the minus 30 and lower, we have it mild. But, because of the humidity, I swear it feels colder than it really is and some days you just never really feel warm. It's supposed to snow tonight and I'm hoping not - we are not good snow drivers! LOL

Interesting Day

It was my cancer support group lunch today and as usual, a good time was had. We caught up on our members who are still battling or battling again, as well as those who now have family members fighting the disease. There never seems to be an end to it. We planned our December lunch and what we want to do at least for the first part of 2011. There is so much laughter and support!

After lunch I went and checked out our annual craft fair. There were about 80 tables this year, everything from knitting, quilting, carving, jewelry, baking and preserves, soaps, etc. Everything has to be handmade or you aren't allowed to have a table. I wandered around for a couple of hours, admiring and buying. It is the best place to find unique and unusual gifts and this year is no exception.

As well, in our performing arts centre, there was a display of stocking stuffer ideas, mostly from home based businesses and the Lutheran Church was having its Christmas Tea, so there was lots to keep me on the go. Great weather for it as well - cold, but no snow and the sun was out!

Brrrrrr . . . . .

Well, we had our first below zero night and it was so hard to crawl out of my nice warm bed at 0430 this morning. And if I needed more proof of how chilly it was, the cats refused to move, even though it was breakfast time and usually they are right at my heels, complaining. The nicest part of the morning was my friend's car that I have use of at the moment - it has a remote start, so when I got in, it was warm and defrosted and perfectly lovely. Too bad Sisters isn't - it's always cool in here because of the people who are exercising, but when you're sitting at the desk doing paperwork and the computer . . . . well, let's just say I'm still wearing my coat!

My landlord is going to try again this weekend to do the drywall in my store room so I can get things out of my entryway. Poor Garry - he's been putting in killer hours at his job the last few weeks.

The Poplar Field by William Cowper

The poplars are felled, farewell to the shade
And the whispering sound of their cool colonnade,
The winds play no longer, and sing in the leaves,
Nor Ouse on his bosom their image receives.

Twelve years have elapsed since I last took a view
Of my favourite field and the bank where they grew,
And now in the grass behold they are laid,
And the tree is my seat that once lent me shade.

The blackbird has fled to another retreat
Where the hazels afford him a screen from the heat,
And the scene where his melody charmed me before,
Resounds with his sweet-flowing ditty no more.

My fugitive years are all hasting away,
And I must ere long lie as lowly as they,
With a turf on my breast, and a stone at my head,
Ere another such grove shall arise in its stead.

'Tis a sight to engage me, if any thing can,
To muse on the perishing pleasures of man;
Though his life be a dream, his enjoyments, I see,
Have a being less durable even than he.

And When You Can't Stitch . . .

I haven't been able to stitch the last couple of days as my left thumb is super sore, so I picked up one of my Janet Evanovich books and got back into the world of Stephanie Plum. I am really enjoying the series - the stories move along at a good pace, I like the humour and the main character. There are 16 books in the main series - I'm on Lean Mean Thirteen - each of which has a number in the title. Then there are 4 non-numbered titles Visions of Sugar Plums, Plum Lovin', Plum Lucky and Plum Spooky which fit in after number 8, 12, 13 and 14. It's not necessary to read the stories in order - they are stand alone stories - but since characters are introduced and then reappear later, it helps to keep track of who's who. So, if you're just looking for something light, I can definitely recommend these. The first one is One For The Money.

Today's poem is another William Blake and it's #470 of the 500. And no, if you count, I haven't shared all of them. Some are just too long and some I just don't like.

Holy Thursday

'Twas on Holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean,
The children walking two & two, in red & blue & green,
Grey-headed beadles walked before with wands as white as snow,
Till into the high dome of Paul's they like Thames waters flow.

O what a multitude they seemed, these flowers of London town!
Seated in companies they sit with radiance all their own,
The hum of multitudes was there, but multitudes of lambs,
Thousands of little boys & girls raising their innocent hands.

Now like a mighty wind they raise to Heaven the voice of song,
Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of Heaven among.
Beneath them sit the aged men, wise guardians of the poor;
Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door.

I've realized something since I started blogging more regularly. While I enjoy my life and the way the days pass, there's not always much to talk about! While curled up on my couch reading a book is a great way to spend most of a day, it's not all that interesting to read about. I think this is going to be more of a challenge than I originally thought.

William Blake wrote today's poem.

Mock On, Mock On, Voltaire, Rousseau

Mock on, mock on, Voltaire, Rouseau;
Mock on, mock on, 'Tis all in vain.
You throw the sand against the wind,
And the wind blows it back again.

And every sand becomes a Gem
Reflected in the beams divine;
Blown back, they blind the mocking Eye,
But still in Israel's paths they shine.

The Atoms of Democritus
And Newton's Particles of light
Are sands upon the Red sea shore,
Where Israel's tents do shine so bright.

Quiet Days

Not too much happening over the last couple of days.

Yesterday the weather behaved itself until the Remembrance Day ceremonies were over, which was so nice. Usually everyone gets soaked!

This is one of Thomas Hood's poems.

I Remember, I Remember

I remember, I remember,
The house where I was born,
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn;
He never came a wink too soon,
Nor brought too bright a day,
But now, I often wish the night
Had borne my breath away!

I remember, I remember,
The roses, red and white,
The violets, and the lily-cups,
Those flowers made of light!
The lilacs where the robin built,
And where my brother set
The laburnum on his birthday,--
The tree is living yet!

I remember, I remember,
Where I was used to swing,
And thought the air must rush as fresh
To swallows on the wing;
My spirit flew in feathers then,
That is so heavy now,
And summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow!

I remember, I remember,
The fir trees dark and high;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky;
It was a childish ignorance,
But now 'tis little joy
To know I'm farther off from Heaven
Than when I was a boy.

Quiet Days

Well, Garry wasn't able to do the drywall, so my store room is still topsy turvy. Trying to find enough hours in a day is hard for everyone.

I realized I haven't posted any pictures of my new cats. As it is, I only have one of Snowy - Yoda is still camera shy and I haven't been able to get anything but an out of focus tail so far!

This is by Longfellow.

Chaucer

An old man in a lodge within a park;

The chamber walls depicted all around

With portraitures of huntsman, hawk, and hound,

And the hurt deer. He listeneth to the lark,

Whose song comes with the sunshine through the dark

Of painted glass in leaden lattice bound;

He listeneth and he laugheth at the sound,

Then writeth in a book like any clerk.

He is the poet of the dawn, who wrote

The Canterbury Tales and his old age

Made beautiful with song; and as I read

I hear the crowing cock, I hear the note

Of lark and linnet, and from every page

Rise odors of ploughed field or flowery mead.

Fun Things

There are a few blogs that I read on a regular basis, mostly people who stitch. Well, one of them is having a really special giveaway - check this out http://threadsthroughouttime.blogspot.com
Terri is a superb stitcher and does some beautiful patterns.

I forgot to turn my clocks back Saturday night and didn't realize it until after supper yesterday. Good thing I had nothing planned yesterday that required a specific time!

Tennyson wrote this poem.

Flower in the Crannied Wall

Flower in the crannied wall,
I plucked you out of the crannies,
I hold you here, root and all, in my hand,
Little flower--but if I could understand
What you are, root and all, and all in all,
I should know what God and man is.

Disappointment

Well, when I weighed myself on Nov 2nd, I had gone up 1/2 pound. Not the most auspicious start, but I'm not going to panic just yet. On the positive side, since I've been paying attention to portion sizes (actually weighing and measuring), my blood sugars have improved greatly. I haven't had a double digit since after lunch on Tuesday. Now, that's not a long stretch, but before that I was having at least one every day in the 11 to 15 range - it's supposed to be between 4 and 7!

The Woodspurge

The wind flapped loose, the wind was still,
Shaken out dead from tree and hill:
I had walked on at the wind's will,--
I sat now, for the wind was still.

Between my knees my forehead was,--
My lips, drawn in, said not Alas!
My hair was over in the grass,
My naked ears heard the day pass.

My eyes, wide open, had the run
Of some ten weeds to fix upon;
Among those few, out of the sun,
The woodspurge flowered, three cups in one.

From perfect grief there need not be
Wisdom or even memory:
One thing then learned remains to me,--
The woodspurge has a cup of three.

Dante Gabriel Rossetti

Another Finish

I've been busy stitching and finished my second mouse pad insert. I think he's a very chipper looking snowman!



My storage area is still all topsy-turvy, but Garry things he will be able to replace the drywall this weekend, so I will be able to get things out of my entry way and re-organized. Looking forward to that.

Emily Dickinson is still the poet.

"I never saw a Moor"

I never saw a Moor--
I never saw the Sea--
Yet know I how the Heather looks
And what a Billow be.

I never spoke with God
Nor visited in Heaven--
Yet certain am I of the spot
As if the Checks were given--