Dear Jam, We "almost" got flooded again. I could hear the water closet gurgling with 16-years worth of human excrement churning in the septic tank. But I shrugged that, thinking if it's going to flood, it will and went ahead to do the laundry. While I was waiting on the washing machine, I went back to you and obliged your prodding of a Sister Act review. You simply sang a falsetto and pointed the TV, whereas I understood it as that demand. I'm glad to be right because as soon as I switched the movie forward, you were rejoicing to the "Salve Regina". I'm happy that you and I share the same penchant for singing and movies with singing.
We also shrugged the threat of imminent deluge with the wonderful feeling the rain brings and the same for which is true of Daddy's phone call. You were babytalking to him this time compared to his other phonecalls. You were extremely precious to him and
to me when I trimmed your growing hair. I packed the trimmings in an envelope and slipped them in between one of my novels. So the belief goes, that keeping a baby's trimmed hair in a book will help assure a certain degree of intelligence when the child grows up. Already, I have one packet hidden the middle of my Ancient Egyptian Archeology book, one in the Family Bible, an another which was snipped off when you turned one, inside an encyclopedia. There's nothing wrong with a little belief right?
Your MAYmah,
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