She Gave Me A Hug And For

I Am So Tired, I Can Hardly Type These Worfs.

I Never Want To Be Away From You Again, Except At Work, In The Restroom Or When One Of Us Is At A Movie The Other Does Not Want To See.

The Violins Waltzed. The Cellos And Basses Provided Accompaniment. The Violas Mourned Their Fate, While The Concertmaster Showed Off. The Flutes Did Bird Imitations…repeatedly, And The Reed Instruments Had The Good Taste To Admire My Jacket. The Trumpets Held A Parade In Honor Of Our Great Nation, While The French Horns Waxed Nostalgic About Something Or Other. The Trombones Had Too Much To Drink. The Percussion Beat The Band, And The Tuba Stayed Home Playing Cards With His Landlady, The Harp, Taking Sips Of Warm Milk A Blue Little Cup. “but The Composer Is Still Dead.

I'm Always Loath To Make Generalizations About What Is For Children And What Isn't. Certainly Children's Literature As A Genre Has Some Restrictions, So Certain Things Will Never Pop Up In A Snicket Book. But I Didn't Know Anything About Writing For Children When I Started - This Is The Theme Of Naïveté Creeping Up On Us Once More - And I Sort Of Still Don't, And I'm Happy That Adults Are Reading Them As Well As Children.

A Good Thing To Do When One Is Sitting, Eating, And Resting Is To Have A Conversation.