“Mama, can a MOUSE LEARN?” I pause, the large, somewhat tasteless BERRY in my hands. “Well, I suppose so, honey.” “I thought so! Thanks, Mama!” I turned and RELIT the stove. Oatmeal (with out-of-season strawberries and blueberries offering bursts of color if not flavor) will taste good on this chilly spring morning. But, my brain must have been as frozen as the pond, for it took far too long for my child’s question to sink in. The last time he asked me that kind of question, I was dismayed to find evidence of a homemade flea circus with real fleas. I might REVEL in his cleverness and curiosity, but I decided I better investigate why he wanted to know if mice could learn. Visions of a terrified, trapped house mouse being made to perform tricks began to form in my mind…and the silence from his room was beginning to feel ominous. So, turning the stove off, to prevent a breakfast disaster, I started down the hall, calling, “hey there, what are you up to?”

Georg’ann

Indeed!
Janine had FLAIR, and was a great story teller. My family always loved hearing tales of her WORLD travels over dinner. The only down side were her atrocious table manners, or lack there of. She was one to SLURP and splatter. Most tried to sit out of direct range. I, however, was a more than a wee bit envious of her in every sense and didn’t mind if my blouse bore sauce speckles for having drawn near. Her unrestrained joie de vivre was a quality I hadn’t been allowed, we were not ones to fully REVEL in all that life had to offer, only to enjoy it vicariously.

Heather