These Boots Were Made For Stomping

Cute, or what? Grandkiddos are, to use jaimetemairik-speak, the Bee's Knees. Or the Ant's Pants. Or the Kitten's Mittens. What else,... oh, the Dog's Clogs, or the Antelope's Cantaloupe...Help! Get me out of here. O.K., I'm not a poet. Or clever.

But this heat is like...hot. Last night at the Secret Garden Bookstore we had a fun book signing and talk. Thank you Christy, and Suzanne. Well, Ben and I had fun, the crowd, (make that Illuminati) were sweltering, and humoring us. Now, I looked up "Illuminati", and this crowd was not 16th century Spanish heretics, or George Washinton's Secret-Handshake-Bavarian cousins. These were the real deal.

A lot of times when I give a little talk, I realize that people in the audience are *way* ahead of me. Think, brilliant, Nobel Laureates, or writers whose words burn like molten magnesium. Artists who make Mona Lisa's mouth drop open. Such was the case last night. Thank you for coming, Chauni and Bill Haslet, lovely friends and stellar supporters of literacy, authors, and illustrators.

There were kids in the audience, the young kind, short children, who were apparently studying chemistry, and military ordinance, and two of them are book reviewers! I'm not kidding. That's right, none other that The Talking Potatoes. They could see right through us. Oy!

Back to the yellow rain boots. I loved those when I was a kid. Yes, rubber had been invented back then. And the color yellow existed too. Point is, Rain Boots. So, mateys, courage. Hold fast. It will rain again. And get cooler. So don't get all cocky, Sun, like you're so hot. This is the Northwest. Didn't you see Sleepless in Seattle? It rains nine months out of the year here.