The Demings come calling - Howdy Aunt Selma & Linda - Reading and Napping in The Quiet Room

"Tummy Time" for Max Atticus.




While Nicole and Max stayed home, Dan, Grace and I went on our usual walk to the crick.

I asked Grace, "So what dyou think Mommy and Max are doing now?"

"Tummy time," she answered.

Dan was skipping rocks over at the crick.

Nice ripples, I'd say, teaching Grace the word ripples.

I showed her wild flowers - purple African violets, white African violets, spring beauties.

Spring beauties. Wild flowers are also called Ephemerals. Can't believe my 67-yo brain easily remembered that word.

My loyal readers - Hello Rob! - I don't know who you other people are - SPEAK UP, PLEASE! - will remember I sent out a Birthday Packet to my Aunt Selma for her 95th birthday.

Spoke to her this morning, while walking around the outside of my yellow house, I still can't believe I'm old enuf to own my own house (this is true!) and we talked about her wonderful party.

Her daughter Linda answered the phone. I had tucked our recent Compass mag in there and Linda is in the process of reading every single article.

Silent readers: Send me your mailing address and I'll be glad to send you a copy.

Linda's husband Jack began planning the party in February. All home-cooked food at his sister's house.

Please, I entreated, put the photos on FB so I can see everyone.

Initially, Linda chastised me for creating an "inappropriate card" filled with dead people. Her mom was yelling in the background, "I love it!"



Wonderful book! Lyrical, filled with nuggets of fascinating information about art and photography (Nigerian-American author Cole is himself a photographer), and a fascinating interlude on the indestructibility of BED BUGS.

Or, in my case, sunflower seeds between the keys and my teeth.

I'll def'ly finish the book by Thursday for my book club discussion.

The other book I'm reading is

There was very little info on the jacket or innards about the book so I took a blind leap and checked it out.

Brooke Morgan, whom I know nothing about, has written a brilliant first novel, which turns out to be a chilling horror story.

Something very scary just happened in the book, so I decided this was a good time to come down and eat a delicious dinner of lentil soup, with peanuts et al for dessert.

Rest assured, I'll climb back upstairs and resume reading in the Quiet Room.