No Rest for the Weary

...not when there are two cats in the house.

I was up early this morning, getting ready for a field trip to a funeral home. I was just getting dressed when I heard a mighty crash from downstairs. I went downstairs and the two cats were in the kitchen, looking nervous. A marble cheese board which normally resides on the counter was on the floor, broken in two. I suspect one or the other of them tried to jump up on the counter onto it, and it slipped off and broke. In thinking of the expressions on the cats' faces, I'm reminded of the first words my dear husband learned as a second-grader in Belgium many years ago: "Ce n'etait pas moi." The cats always speak French when they do something bad; they think it makes them seem less guilty and more charmant...

Then it was off to the farmer's market for beautiful apples, then to the funeral home, and now I'm hip-deep in Hebrew and Liturgics et al for my exams next week. Later I've got a rehearsal for a concert I'm singing in tomorrow, a fundraiser for a homeless ministry here in Your Nation's Capitol, and a dinner part tonight. I'm trying not to feel guilty about the time spent away from studying. It will be what it will be.