Addicted

I was told yesterday by bookclub friends that they were surprised to see that I am actually blogging more than they expected, and in fact, I am doing it more than I anticipated. If you read my first entry- you'll see that I set the expectation very low- that way, you wouldn't be disappointed :) I have to admit... I'm a little addicted. It's still fresh and new, and I'm sure I'll tire of the novelty soon. But then again, maybe I won't... you'll just have to keep checking back to see! How's that for a tease? And leave a comment, whydontcha? It'd be nice to see who's been lurking out there. I'm not asking for a novel- just a hello.

Anyway- I wanted to post something out here that I think is very sweet. It's a poem/song we heard on Friday night at the B & B, sung by the eccentric mother of one of the innkeepers. She's a hoot. During our exploration of the house, we wandered into the... parlor (?) I guess it'd be called. We found an accordian-playing guest and his wife along with Marion (the eccentric mother) burning up the piano and accordian, if such a thing is possible. It was quite amusing and entertaining. Marion proclaimed that if and when she gets married again (she's 74!) she wants this song played during the wedding. She played it for us, then wouldn't let us leave again until she had read the lyrics to us to make sure we fully appreciated them. It's called "To Celia" by Ben Johnson.

Drink to me, only with thine eyes
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup,
And I'll not look for wine.
The thirst that from the soul doth rise
Doth ask a drink divine:
But might I of Jove's nectar sup
I would not change for thine.

I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
Not so much honouring thee
As giving it a hope that there
It could not withered be
But thou thereon didst only breathe
And sent'st it back to me:
Since, when it grows and smells, I swear,
Not of itself but thee.