Another day with sunshine coming through the windows, so the cats and I are happy, happy!

Spent a little over an hour this morning working on Sisters' books. Now I'm up to date again and everything should be okay while I'm away. Mind you, this is on top of the almost 7 hours I spent on Friday. The filing really needed to be re-organized and I did that. Rather monotonous and defintely time consuming, but will make a great difference now. I had set the original system up when I first started working at Sisters and didn't have the same understanding of what would be required. Ah well, live and learn.

Have a few things to do on the computer, than back to stitching. The man of the couple is completed and I have some of the woman's headdress. I would like to finish that this weekend and start on her gown. I would love to finish this piece at the retreat next weekend and get back to my rotation and the new birth announcement project.

England in 1819

An old, mad. blind, despised, and dying king,
Princes, the dregs of their dull race, who flow
Through public scorn, -- mud froma muddy spring, --
Rulers who neither see, nor feel, nor know,
But leech-like to their fainting country cling,
Till they drop, blind in blood, without a blow, --
A people starved and stabbed in the untilled field, --
An army, which liberticide and prey
Makes as a two-edged sword to all who wield, --
Golden and sanguine laws which tempt and slay;
Religion Christless, Godless -- a book sealed;
A Senate, -- Time's worst statute unrepealed, --
Are graves, from which a glorious Phantom may
Burst, to illumine our tempestuous day.

Percy Bysshe Shelley
1792 - 1822

Well, my mouth is almost back to normal - just the occasional twinge. What a relief!

We've had 2 days of sun - almost a record for this summer. And 3 days ago while there was no sun (cloudy) it was hot and muggy. And that is NOT a complaint. It was SO good to feel the warmth. Yesterday the cats spent their time sprawling out in every patch of sunshine they could find.

To _____________

One word is too often profaned
For me to profane it.
One feeling too falsely disdained
For thee to disdain it;
One hope is too like despair
For prudence to smother,
And pity from thee more dear
Than that from another.

I can give not what men call love,
But wilt thou accept not
The worship the heart lifts above
And the Heavens reject not, --
The desire of the moth for the star,
Of the night for the morrow,
The devotion to something afar
From the sphere of our sorrow?

Percy Bysshe Shelley
1792 - 1822