Fio went out in mid-afternoon to tow her little red wagon full of creekbed rocks along the driveway and shore up problem areas, but she received a stone cold reception from her troops. In fact, she received no reception. They totally ignored her, which sort of scared her. What had she done to estrange her wonderful rocks? She laid out a few new recruits, then stopped and considered. It was so hot out, and the air was so still. OMG--the rocks were telling her to go in and gulp down some water, that she wasn't safe out in the heat today! Thank you, my darlings.
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Fiorella has never been knocked unconscious that she knows of. But after the fact, does one ever realize one has been unconscious?
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Let's spend less on museums and more on affordable housing, on the furure rather than the past.
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You do realize, of course, that if Fiorella couldn't write on Blogspot, Facebook, Documents, or her lista amarilla, she'd scratch what she wants to say on sidewalks and cave walls. Do you also realize that Fiorella, who started this blog very cautiously, now regularly spills her guts and tells you things no one else knows?
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All good things in Fiorella's life are referred to as Baby--her dog, her laptop, and her granddaughter. Rejoice with Fio.
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