Tomorrow's another day to worry about...

One bright spot: Jed will be here today and the next day and the next day--to encourage, accompany, and revive me--before, during, and after my Wednesday check-up appointment. I'd hate to be a doctor and have people dread seeing me. Some people don't dread it, I understand, old people who don't get to see many people. I'm glad I'm not old and shut in. Thanks, Lord.

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Sunday afternoon was just wonderful! We ate chicken, salads, barbecue, yams and cake. I drank a little wine to break my long Lenten abstinence. Reed was a very entertaining host, told lots of stories or incidents or something about bugs, showed the purple flowers he and Ma planted. "Quel age as-tu?" I asked him, and he said, "I'm four" (after Ma translated). About the bunny cake, he looked at me like, "You've got to be kidding me."

I'm afraid this is going to be the lost week, writingwise. Maybe Friday I'll be recovered enough to write a little. I hope. -- No, Friday's book club day, so I'll have to think about Gee's Bend.
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The other day Mable sent me a link to a wonderful song, "Going Home," to the music of Anton Dvorak's symphony. I posted it in my Music Links (in this blog's left column). They played the music during President Ford's funeral, and if I can find a cd or dvd of it, I want to arrange to have the song played at mine, if I should ever have one. I'm sure Gerry wouldn't mind my copying. He was a lovely man, though as a president, opinions vary.

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I remember these

flowers from my childhood, when Daddy and Alfred built the house in Irondale for Iris and Alfred. Granny lived with them, and she had banks of these tiny pink flowers in the spring and summer. I don't know the name of them, but they're some kind of clover or sorrel-related plant. I've had them at lots of my houses and apartment, all descended from Granny's plants. Here, they died in the flower bed, but survive in the lawn. I guess getting cut down every 2 weeks just makes them more stubborn and spreading.