Well, yesterday I faced one of life's great traumas - a new hairdresser! The one I've had for the past 15 years or so called it quits, so . . . . . .  I asked a few people whose cuts I like and when one name came up more than once, I decided to try her. When I finished my morning at Sisters, off I went to Hair by Brenda and she gave me a good cut - really listened to what I said I wanted. Realized when I went in that I had met her before - she used to be a member at Sisters! And I got a bonus - she had brought her new puppy to work, the most adorable little ball of black fluff you have ever seen, probably about 10 weeks old.

Then home for a nap - the cats were miffed. Home late, smelling of DOG - what could be worse?

And the day ended with a crafting night. I finished Gladiolus (picture coming, honest) and Cynthia was working on the pillows she is turning the grad pieces into. They are looking so fantastic - she was hand stitching the mitred corners on the front. And the fabric we found in her stash looks perfect - you would think we had gone out and specifically shopped for it. I'm so thrilled and so honoured to have such a generous and talented friend.

To the Memory of Mr. Oldham

Farewell, too little and too lately known,
Whom I began to think and call my own;
For sure our souls were near allied, and thine
Cast in the same poetic mold with mine.
One common note on either lyre did strike,
And knaves and fools we both abhorred alike.
To the same goal did both our studies drive:
The last set out the soonest did arrive.
Thus Nissus fell upon the slippery place,
While his young friend performed and won the race.
O early ripe! to thy abundant store
What could advancing age have added more?
It mihgt (what Nature never gives the young)
Have taught the numbers of thy native tongue.
But satire needs not those, and wit will shine
Through the harsh cadence of a rugged line.
A noble error, and but seldom made,
When poets are by too much force betrayed.
Thy gen'rous fruits, though gathered ere their prime,
Still showed a quickness; and maturing time
But mellow what we write to the dull sweets of rhyme.
Once more, hail, and farewell! farewell, thou young
But ah! too short, Marcellus of our tongue!
Thy brows with ivy and with laurels bound;
But fate and gloomy night encompass thee around.

John Dryden
1631 - 1700