The best-laid schemes o’ mice an ‘men
Gang aft agley,
An’lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain,
For promis’d joy!
(Robert Burns, To A Mouse, On Turning Her Up In Her Nest With The Plough)
It is Break Week at Sunset (and, consequently at Charamon in Abilene) which includes Thanksgiving. I was looking forward to getting a bunch of stuff done (won’t bore you with the details) but Brenda and I are reluctantly entertaining the worst cold (bacterial, apparently, as opposed to viral) we’ve had for years. Our doctor kindly saw us both and has given us the requisite antibiotics and steroid shots and a breathing treatment for your’s truly.
It would have been satisfying to leave some shamefully neglected tasks in our powerful wake as we plowed through the murky waters of waiting work. But, truly, as Robbie Burns warned, our plans have gone “agley” (whatever that means) and we are left with “nought but grief an’ pain / For promis’d joy!” Oh, we’ll weakly eke out some effort and put paid to a few of the more impatient chores. But a much more glorious and joyful outcome had been anticipated. Bummer!