So a little over a week ago I had a death grip on my little red hoopie's steering wheel, praying that I wouldn't kill anyone or be killed in the midst of a whirling snowstorm, though had I accidentally slammed into one of the many barely visible cars, its equally dim driver would have had it coming seeing as he or she had NOT been blessed w/ the brain power generally bequeathed to a run of the mill hamster & hadn't switched on his or her headlights = too dumb to drive and/or live . Now today (Doris Day's birthday, bless her heart forever, a birthday shared w/ the remarkable, far-traveling Washington Irving, the subject of my last [ever?] bona fide picture book - it was handsome, no foolin' - done before the publishing biz turned upside down and the National Geographic dumped me) it was about 90ยบ Sheesh.
On the other hand, I sculpted today. Played with clay. How I loved talking to all those hundreds of children in Hopkins Co., KY and in Jackson, MO - do you know that there's a little piano there that was brought over from Europe by ship, by flatboat, by oxcart in 1815? There totally is. How I'd love to do that more often, entertain kids, having serious fun w/ teachers, librarians, & their fizzy gaggles of young clients. How I love being home alone, talking to no one, seeing no one.
A bit of a conflict, huh? she wrote to no one in particular. your basic tree falling in the forest.
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