Red Room Where the Writers Are

Today was my birthday. Although I am miserably sick with a headcold, it was a lovely day.

 Bon Anniversaire, Arthur Rimbaud:

"Le Prince et le Genie s'aneantirent probablement dans la sante essentielle. Comment n'auraient-ils pas pu en mourir?"

Today was another gorgeous Indian summer day, but the drive up and across the Mississippi River to O’Fallon and Lake Saint Louis reall

Okay, how did this happen? Judy Blume is seventy. Seventy. And I'm thirty-six. I mean, I know how it happened, everyone gets older (except Dick Clark.

Another poster noted it was his birthday today, so I'll jump on the band waggon also.  Champagne tonight (not that I need the excuse).

            I know I said I wasn't going to blog this weekend, however a big event is happening today. It's pretty big, gentle readers. Madonna is fifty. Yes, nifty fifty!

Today is Harper Lee's birthday. I think today should be a holiday. We should all go to the library and read our favorite sections from To Kill A Mockingbird aloud.

Spreading the Love

by Kate--