Song to Celia
By Ben Jonson
Drinke to me, onely, with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kisse but in the cup,
And Ile not looke for wine.
The thirst, that from the soule doth rise,
Doth aske a drinke divine:
But might I of Jove's Nectar sup,
I would not change for thine.
I sent thee, late, a rosie wreath,
Not so much honoring thee,
As giving it a hope, that there
It could not withered bee.
But thou thereon did'st onely breath,
And sent'st it back to mee:
Since when it growes, and smells, I sweare,
Not of it selfe, but thee.
For reasons more concerning a family member than myself, it was not a good day around here...again. Plus I have one friend dealing with a work crisis and another with a bad case of the flu. I am so ready for this crappy year to end. My only good news was retail therapy: Brighton Collectibles sent me a customer loyalty gift certificate, which I promptly went out and spent on the kitty ring holder I've been looking at since pretty much the first time I was in a Brighton store -- I figure this month I deserve it.
I walked around the mall for an hour to kill time and waved to Santa before picking up Adam from track practice (held outdoors even though it's indoor track season, so he was quite cold). We caught up on last week's Almost Human (the discussion of artificial endowment was hilarious) before watching this week's (I'd so prefer Maldonado to Stahl as a love interest), then watched Alfie Boe with the Mormon Tabernacle Choir on PBS (he did "Bring Him Home"). Some photos from Kiparoo Farm yesterday: