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We are facing three days of 90+ weather; that is hot for us, or at least me. I know, I am a wimp. Actually, the good thing about the higher temperatures is that this year I have been out sort of working in them at Mother’s. Oh, God, how I love iced tea. It has been a cleansing reminder for my body – sweat out the toxins, suck in the water and, of course, you don’t feel like eating much.

It would put hair on my chest – might as well be something there since I don’t have a bosom. I have renewed my respect for hats and when a cool front moves in with invigorating breezes I will  revel in it. Revel? Me? I am a dull reveler; I can’t seem to build up to a rollicking revel, probably a genetic trait from strait-laced ancestors. (Obviously I am not counting the great-great grandfather who took off for CALIFORNIA after his first wife died – my great-great grandmother – and didn’t take our part of the family to the beach!)

More fireworks last night – more time spent with one dog barking maniacally and the other quivering on top of me. More hamburgers, more hot dogs.

Tomorrow is Quentin’s birthday. We keep asking him what he wants and he keeps putting us off . . . so I guess we’ll go with the pink flamingo for the front yard.

(Quentin, this is Rose – Get a paper bag and breathe into it . . . Your mother is just kidding.)