To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time, And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more; it is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.
I took these right after L made breakfast, so ignore the dirty pans hehe (Vickie, look on top of my cabinets and you will see why I love how many cabinets you have :) ) 
Another view of above my cabinets :)
A place where a microwave is SUPOSED to be
Made possible by Gretchen at 6:53 PM
0 comments:
Post a Comment