I looked and looked for this picture of Quentin and his Grandma Sarah standing in the west part of the yard in Scott together and I can’t find it. I have seen it recently so I am thinking of whamming my head against a brick wall. Fortunately, Mother once gave me a section of foam bricks to hang on the basement door.
This picture is not particularly amazing in terms of pictures: Quentin is wearing one of his flannel shirts with a tee shirt underneath. Mother is standing there beside him. There is a resemblance and a couple of weeks ago I exclaimed to Quentin, “You have a lot of your Grandma Sarah in you.” That is not bad at all, except now and then the eccentricities that drove me crazy about Mother look back at me from him. It’s not that that is bad either; actually, there is a humor to it.
But I can’t find that picture, so it is not seen here. Bummer.
I could write a lot, but he knows. So . . . Happy Birthday, Quentin.