Flowers, cards and a great-grandson

Little red flowers and big yellow ones.

Kathryn and more flowers.

AND now here is the verse and the signature from the card she gave Emory:

MB 300D

The link above will expire, so this is what I am talking about:

It’s in California. So in my wildest dreams – considering the story listed above about the ole 300D resting in peace – I see myself teleporting to California, forking over money from my newly -acquired fortune and driving back to in a new little greenie. Driving back? Hmmmm. Well, I’ll tell myself it’s a road trip.

I’ve been here, not feeling bad, just feeling cold-y. Thing is, though, I’ve not had too many ideas; I find that boring, but there it is. I’ve worked on the pattern for the bathroom floor and run people to appointments and such and eaten peanut butter foldovers and had my share of doses of “the cure”  . . .  and just let thinking nanos drain out of me. And, now, I think I am getting refreshed thinking nanos back; I don’t know but perhaps they went to a spa. I’m thinking of it as a transfusion from myself, sort of like when you have surgery and they collect the blood you’re bleeding and pump it back in. Or, perhaps, this is more a dialysis process: the little nanos (and yes, I suppose adding that adjective is redundant) come out, get scrubbed, massaged, a pep talk from Lou Holtz, aromatic therapy, some counseling and then go back into my brain.

So . . . maybe I’ll have a thought soon. Don’t want to rush it, though.

Or perhaps none of this happens.