We drove across the desert to spend Valerie’s birthday in early April with our Sparks gang. Wrestling in the back yard with the grandkids, she proved, as usual, that the numbers lie, where she’s concerned.
Me, I was already beginning to succumb to arthritis and neuritis and couldn’t really take part. So Tucker invented the “bump-machine:” he’d bring this pile of couch pillows to protect my brioche, which he and Bryan would then assault very kinetically, dashing across the living-room
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and launching themselves through the air upon my padded midsection, ensconced on the denuded sofa.
Some large appliance sacrificed its shipping-carton to the cause of framing Tucker’s monumental cuteness.
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Laura used to say that there was no truth to the rumor that Reno is hell. But you can see Sparks from there…
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