The Red Bird

This is one of the gifts I got for my birthday, from the grandchild I call

Little Red--because of the color of her hair. She knows I am a birder!

Note the beautiful repeated strokes of color on the bird.

I am suffering mildly from some sort of low-grade fever--an I-don't know what to do next, so why do this or that?--sort of fever. 

But, I am still reading (though only allowing myself to buy Kindle books, until I dispose of a few thousand paper ones!) and just began Mary Karr's new book (remember the big success of The Liar's Club?) The Art of Memoir.

Here is a quote from early in that book for this memory thread:

"There are traumatic memories that rise up unbidden and dwarf you where you stand. But there are also memories you dig for: you start with a clear fix on a tiny instant, and pick at every knot until a thin thread comes undone that you can follow back through the mind's labyrinth to other places." (Kindle location 340.)

Please excuse my recent absence. I hope I am back now. . .