Gosh darn, we can’t show you pictures now because we don’t think she’d want to be seen with the restraints on her wrists and ankles and the hospital nightie replacing her grass skirt. Calm down, it’s not that bad; at least, that’s what the chief psych doc says – just little post traumatic stress.

It was so silly, actually. She saw the dandelion stems magically reappear in multitudes – tall, tall multitudes – and went out in our new warm humidity to get some sense of the land of swaying palm trees. Then she started to concentrate on the grass, since you know her grass skirt had been temporarily bent recently. She concentrated Sooooo hard she didn’t hear the mower.

IT’S OKAY. It was a close call, but it’s okay – except that she’s a little, oh, what would you say? agitated? Emily and all the others in the Cafe & Roadhouse circle have rallied around her. (To tell the truth, they’ve hung big flat screen TV over her bed and signed up for Netflix . . . but they do care. Really. You know I’m just joking, right? Of course, you do.)