Looking Down

Remember Fiorella's obsession with flint? It's still alive and well. In fact, she can't seem to walk down the driveway without spotting another prime specimen to add to her collection. Which brings her to the obvious question: why is she always looking down?

It's probably a habit developed from living in the country. Fio would rather not be stung by a scorpion, and those little devils are sneaky. Fio's spotted them in a puddle of water in front of the refrigerator, on the guest room floor just as she warned Daughter-in Law Jen about them, in the front hall as she bade Nephew Aaron farewell, in the bathroom, traversing the erstaz-bearskin rug, on the richly-patterned oriental carpet as she wrote Fiorella.

Indoors, they're squashed flat as soon as Fio can put on shoes or grab a fly swatter, but outdoors, she lets them live, especially the mothers carrying babies on their backs. Anyway, she's too busy picking up flint to bother.