Good gracious, gifts for the sickling

A stout knock on the front door which Scott answered while I lay on the upstairs sheets. The door slammed and I waited. Who had paid me a visit?

Scott appeared in the doorway with a beautifully wrapped gift. It was a collage of autumn leaves done by Linda Barrett. I called and thanked her profusely. For me she made a collage. Now that is thoughtful.

Anytime you get an envelope from Nancy Wolen it's a grand occasion. This envelope has magical spirit-lifting properties. No wonder I saw Mailman Tom floating like a butterfly down Cowbell Lane.



Nancy is a painter, her medium is chalk pastels, those lovely little crayons that little girls - or big ones like me - just wanna gobble up they look so delicious. Ya know what? I think Nancy would make a fine illustrator for children's books.

She could easily do something like this 2004 Caldecott winner if she'd put her mind to it.

I have faith in you, Nancy. That's something that Mr Roberts might say. But I like Mr Roberts.

Here's the inside of Nancy's get-well card to me, the one that reminds me of a children's book.

Do you know I studied to be a librarian? But never finished. I left behind my love for children's literature when my kids grew up. This meant no more Peter Spier...







or Edward Steig, the Dostoevsky of children's writers

Is it wrong to compare myself with Proust, a man whose sickness left him abed in his parents' flat for many years, even after their deaths? In some ways I feel like I'll never go home. It's like one of those dreams you have where something is so very close but when you reach out to touch it, it's not there.

Scott filled all my water bottles before he left for work tonite and brought me a bowl of green grapes.

Gotta figure out how not to go stir-crazy tonite. Any ideas?