Austen without Zombies, Watercolors, and Quiet Loveliness

For weeks, I have had nary a minute to myself. Happening upon the unexpected pleasure of a single unscheduled afternoon, directly in front of me . . . I am positing myself here,

. . . lulled by the ticking of the clock, that my daughter forgot {ah, well}

{while she decides whether or not she can bring herself to sell such a treasure . . .}

. . . reading this, because I have joined this group, and I honestly can not tell you whether I have actually read Pride and Prejudice, or my knowledge is of the movie variety.

Betwixt chapters, while each petal has had the opportunity to dry, I am attempting to avail myself of all of the information in this book,

. . . as I am determined to teach myself to paint with watercolors, so that I might live out my romantic aspirations of finding myself in the most lovely of plein air situations, whilst I busy myself becoming the woman that I am inside my heart.

Pardon me, while I return to all of this loveliness! {she skips away . . .}