Ah, the joys of Los Angeles in November for a Midwesterner:
Waking up to bright sunshine streaming in through the kitchen,
Waking up to bright sunshine streaming in through the kitchen,
...the clear cerulean blue skies, palm trees in the back yards,
...palm trees everywhere.
"Look, Grammie, your favorite," invariably would say one of my grand children during every outing, "palm trees. Are you going to take a picture?"
Even my grand children have my number.
But, of course, for this Midwesterner the real joys of Los Angeles transcend the natural wonders,
Even my grand children have my number.
But, of course, for this Midwesterner the real joys of Los Angeles transcend the natural wonders,
...and so I took advantage of those little joys as much as I could.
We made Thanksgiving cards for aunts, uncles, and the other grandparents.
We made Thanksgiving cards for aunts, uncles, and the other grandparents.
We made a gingerbread house.
Oh, the agony of waiting for the icing glue to dry.
We made pizza.
| We did karaoke, |
...and made more greeting cards.
| We went out for breakfast, |
...and we went out for lunch,
...and sometimes we went shopping.
| Sometimes we had friends over, |
...and sometimes we just did whatever we were doing.
| It was all good. |
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