Between free-spirited artist Tasha, chatty empty nester Beverly, retired therapist Eleanor, and herself, Vera has hopes that Christmas for the Albright family will be merry, after all-and she may find herself a new family of friends along the way. Vera will have to get a ragtag group of women together in order to fulfill the request. With her mother seriously ill and her father out of town, Fiona enlists Vera's help, and when she finds out her new neighbor is a quilter, she has a special request-a Christmas quilt for Mama. Widowed and recently relocated, she is lonely in her condo-for-one-until little Fiona Albright knocks on her door needing help. But for Vera Swanson, that's not an option this year. Up for my "True to Life Fiction" Newsletter.Ĭhristmas should be celebrated with family.
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The invitees, a family of five fat mice who just moved in next door, haven't an inkling that they are the intended main course. 4-8)Ĭhato and Novio Boy, low-riding East Los Angeles homeboys of the feline variety, have dinner guests. Ideal for reading aloud and as a visual stimulant, this title is bound to become the favored version for children and adults alike. Emberley fille ’s dry wit (“Still no plan”) acts as the perfect complement to Emberley père’s art, which leaps off the page, mixing colors with crazed combinations that provide the perfect balance between text and image. Clever Foxy Loxy momentarily tricks the group into “hiding” from the falling sky in his mouth, but an ill-timed sneeze releases them and, when last seen, backside-to over Foxy Loxy’s ears on the colophon, the bird brains are beating a hasty retreat. In his travels he is joined by Henny Penny, Turkey Lurkey, Loosey Goosey and a host of other mindless fowl. An old chestnut of a tale comes to rip-roaringly glorious, hilarious, gorgeous life in the hands of two picture-book masters. When Chicken Little is knocked senseless by a well-placed acorn, the only thing to do is to grab an umbrella to “protect his scrambled noggin” and head for the hills sans plan. I'll eat a sandwich in the park opposite the theatre, sitting on the same bench, along with other people who also choose the same benches on which to sit and have their lunch, people who all have the same vacant look, but pretend to be pondering extremely important matters. I'll try and read a book, turn on the TV to see the same old programmes, set the alarm clock to wake up at exactly the same time I woke up the day before and mechanically repeat my tasks at the library. I'll go back to my rented room in the convent. The time will come to make our excuses – ‘It's late’, or ‘I have to get up early tomorrow’ – and we'll part as quickly as possible, avoiding looking each other in the eye. We won't have much to talk about, and both he and I will know it. I'll make love with them in their houses, or in the woods, I'll feel a certain degree of pleasure, but the moment I reach orgasm, the feeling of emptiness will return. Since I only took sleeping pills, I'm not disfigured in any way: I'm still young, pretty, intelligent, I won't have any difficulty in getting boyfriends, I never did. In time, I'll start frequenting the same bars and nightclubs, I'll talk to my friends about the injustices and problems of the world, I'll go to the cinema, take walks around the lake. Since people always tend to help others – just so that they can feel they are better than they really are – they'll give me my job back at the library. |