Looking Up

The sister supper Friday was great--just Ramey, Susan and me, but a good time was had by us! Susan's chicken and dumplings was scrumptious, and Pat brought a luscious lemon crunch cake.

Dr. G.'s prescription for my problem is working, and I'm about well. Which reminds me of a story. Long ago, Alabama had an elderly senator named Albert Boutwell, and he had an elderly wife. One day I was in Burger-Phillips department store when Mrs. Boutwell was shopping there. A saleslady said, "How are you today, Mrs. Boutwell?"

The lady answered, "'Bout well, 'bout well!"

The saleslady whispered, "She always says that."
*
I sent my poetry manuscript, The Lightness of the Dark, to the Walt Whitman competition, or did I already say that? And I'm getting the Big Baby ms. ready to submit to a N.Y. publisher. So those two things will be out of my hands and off my to-do list for several months.

There's really not much to hope for in the poetry line. I've received a couple of the American Academy of Poets' prize-winning books in the past. It may be an oxymoron to call my poems, and the kind that the AAP chooses, poetry in the same sentence. But there's always a faint possibility they'll assign the wrong judge this time.