Dear Gilmore Girl,
Calm down. The Naked Lady's got replanted by the fence in the garden, but this is the worst time to move them and they possibly may never bloom again. I still have some to move but they will have to wait. I'm too stiff to dig another blasted hole. And our garden is STILL not planted and it is raining like Noah is the precipitation manager and he thinks everyone should build a boat. It is not a garden, it is a mud hole, waiting to devour anyone who turns a shovel in it's back. Mr. Smith should be our garden manager. We'd be eating tomatoes and zucchini by now.
Dear Everybody Else,
About Mrs. Bird. Every word I write is true. I promise. She is one of a kind. I have more amazing stores to tell. You will come to adore this interesting woman as much as I do. I will post a photo soon. She has forgotten more stories than you'd believe because she is always living another one. If you miss talking to her for a month or so you miss a whole volume of funny stuff.