a time-out

Dear friends, 

I am taking a moment to do a little bit of pre-festivities wallowing...I mean, self-care. If all goes according to plan, I'll be back up and running by Friday.

Until then, here's Emily!

-- Ashley

After great pain a formal feeling comes-- The nerves sit ceremonious like tombs; The stiff Heart questions--was it He that bore? And yesterday--or centuries before? The feet, mechanical, go round A wooden way Of ground, or air, or ought, Regardless grown, A quartz contentment, like a stone. This is the hour of lead Remembered if outlived, As freezing persons recollect the snow-- First chill, then stupor, then the letting go. Emily Dickinson