Well- I feel as though I should post something more substantial than what you've been given of late...
The move is complete, unpacking is NOT- unfortunately
but tonight, I feel as if we are making some noticeable progress with it...SOoooooo many boxes!! 
Not to mention: poor planning/ packing can cause a bit of delay (mainly because I'm a nutcase 
)...
However- i am VERY relieved that the 'in-between' shit is over and our family is back together again!
I go a bit bonkers without the hubby around LITERALLY 
Also, I have been trying to get my phone to connect to my computer so I could share a few pics of the new place with you; unfortunately...I am without success, thus far.
SO! Mayhaps I'll provide you with a bit of literary knowledge, if nothing else this evening...(I know you have ALLL been missing my pretentious words/ poems of the day!! )
WORD OF THE DAY:
Plangent adj 1: having a loud reverberating sound 2: haing an expressive and especially plaintive quality
The long, lyrical poem was a plangent memorial to lost loves and vanished friends.
"Plangent" adds power to our poetry and prose. The pounding of waves, the beat of wings, the tolling of the bells, the throbbing of the human heart, a lover's knock at the door- all have been described as plangent. The word "plangent" traces back to the Latin verb plangere, which has two meanings. The first of those meanings, "to strike or beat," was sometimes used by Latin speakers in reference to striking one's breast in grief. This, in turn, led to the verb's second meaning: "to lament." The sense division carried over to the Latin adjective plangens and then into English, giving us two distinct meanings of "plangent": "pounding" and "expressive of melancholy."
POEM OF THE DAY:
Dance of the Hanged Men by Arthur Rimbaud
On the black gallows, one-armed friend,
The paladins are dancing, dancing
The lean, the devil's paladins
The skeletons of Saladins.
Sir Beelzebub pulls by the scruff
His little black puppets who grin at the sky,
And with a backhander in the head like a kick,
Makes them dance, dance, to an old Carol-tune!
And the puppets, shaken about, entwine their thin arms:
Their breasts pierced with light, like black organ-pipes
Which once gentle ladies pressed to their own,
Jostle together protractedly in hideous love-making.
Hurray! the gay dancers, you whose bellies are gone!
You can cut capers on such a long stage!
Hop! never mind whether it's fighting or dancing!
- Beelzebub, maddened, saws on his fiddles!
Oh the hard heels, no one's pumps are wearing out!
And nearly all have taken of their shirts of skin;
The rest is not embarrassing and can be seen without shame.
On each skull the snow places a white hat:
The crow acts as a plume for these cracked brains,
A scrap of flesh clings to each lean chin:
You would say, to see them turning in their dark combats,
They were stiff knights clashing pasteboard armours.
Hurrah! the wind whistles at the skeletons' grand ball!
The black gallows moans like an organ of iron !
The wolves howl back from the violet forests:
And on the horizon the sky is hell-red...
Ho there, shake up those funereal braggarts,
Craftily telling with their great broken fingers
The beads of their loves on their pale vertebrae:
Hey the departed, this is no monastery here!
Oh! but see how from the middle of this Dance of Death
Springs into the red sky a great skeleton, mad,
Carried away by his own impetus, like a rearing horse:
And, feeling the rope tight again round his neck,
Clenches his knuckles on his thighbone with a crack
Uttering cries like mocking laughter,
And then like a mountebank into his booth,
Skips back into the dance to the music of the bones!
On the black gallows, one-armed friend,
The paladins are dancing, dancing
The lean, the devil's paladins
The skeletons of Saladins.
__________________________________
Rest Well, SGLand!
xoxo
TnT
The move is complete, unpacking is NOT- unfortunately
but tonight, I feel as if we are making some noticeable progress with it...SOoooooo many boxes!! Not to mention: poor planning/ packing can cause a bit of delay (mainly because I'm a nutcase )...
However- i am VERY relieved that the 'in-between' shit is over and our family is back together again!
I go a bit bonkers without the hubby around LITERALLY
Also, I have been trying to get my phone to connect to my computer so I could share a few pics of the new place with you; unfortunately...I am without success, thus far.
SO! Mayhaps I'll provide you with a bit of literary knowledge, if nothing else this evening...(I know you have ALLL been missing my pretentious words/ poems of the day!!
)
WORD OF THE DAY:
Plangent adj 1: having a loud reverberating sound 2: haing an expressive and especially plaintive quality
The long, lyrical poem was a plangent memorial to lost loves and vanished friends.
"Plangent" adds power to our poetry and prose. The pounding of waves, the beat of wings, the tolling of the bells, the throbbing of the human heart, a lover's knock at the door- all have been described as plangent. The word "plangent" traces back to the Latin verb plangere, which has two meanings. The first of those meanings, "to strike or beat," was sometimes used by Latin speakers in reference to striking one's breast in grief. This, in turn, led to the verb's second meaning: "to lament." The sense division carried over to the Latin adjective plangens and then into English, giving us two distinct meanings of "plangent": "pounding" and "expressive of melancholy."
POEM OF THE DAY:
Dance of the Hanged Men by Arthur Rimbaud
On the black gallows, one-armed friend,
The paladins are dancing, dancing
The lean, the devil's paladins
The skeletons of Saladins.
Sir Beelzebub pulls by the scruff
His little black puppets who grin at the sky,
And with a backhander in the head like a kick,
Makes them dance, dance, to an old Carol-tune!
And the puppets, shaken about, entwine their thin arms:
Their breasts pierced with light, like black organ-pipes
Which once gentle ladies pressed to their own,
Jostle together protractedly in hideous love-making.
Hurray! the gay dancers, you whose bellies are gone!
You can cut capers on such a long stage!
Hop! never mind whether it's fighting or dancing!
- Beelzebub, maddened, saws on his fiddles!
Oh the hard heels, no one's pumps are wearing out!
And nearly all have taken of their shirts of skin;
The rest is not embarrassing and can be seen without shame.
On each skull the snow places a white hat:
The crow acts as a plume for these cracked brains,
A scrap of flesh clings to each lean chin:
You would say, to see them turning in their dark combats,
They were stiff knights clashing pasteboard armours.
Hurrah! the wind whistles at the skeletons' grand ball!
The black gallows moans like an organ of iron !
The wolves howl back from the violet forests:
And on the horizon the sky is hell-red...
Ho there, shake up those funereal braggarts,
Craftily telling with their great broken fingers
The beads of their loves on their pale vertebrae:
Hey the departed, this is no monastery here!
Oh! but see how from the middle of this Dance of Death
Springs into the red sky a great skeleton, mad,
Carried away by his own impetus, like a rearing horse:
And, feeling the rope tight again round his neck,
Clenches his knuckles on his thighbone with a crack
Uttering cries like mocking laughter,
And then like a mountebank into his booth,
Skips back into the dance to the music of the bones!
On the black gallows, one-armed friend,
The paladins are dancing, dancing
The lean, the devil's paladins
The skeletons of Saladins.
__________________________________
Rest Well, SGLand!
xoxo
TnT
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nice ink and pics by the way