Thank God it's not Monday

 I know that when you retire, every day is Saturday, but I still had a Monday yesterday.

I had the semi-annual trip to the dentist, which, while not my favorite way to spend a chunk of my afternoon, isn't the worst thing that can happen. Unless, of course, you get very little sleep the night before (to be as delicate as possible, I had plenty of time to consider possible changes to the master bathroom  from 3:47 a.m. to 6:18 a.m.). Unless you discover that you had forgotten to write the time and date of the dentist appointment on the master calendar.  Unless you realize that only about an hour before the appointment. And that's only because you decide to check your email before going back to bed for awhile.

It all worked out--I did get there in time and my mouth is healthy, so that's a win. But between dentist-appointment-related-stress (that should be a recognized syndrome, if it isn't already) and overall fatigue, Mary Ann only got about an hour of attention yesterday.

This is where she stands:

With any luck, I'll finish the basket with what Dearly Beloved described as floating orbs, and get these motifs repeated on the other side today.

That is, of course, after I check the master calendar and my email to see if I'm missing anything scheduled for today.