July 21st, 1977-in which Petey asks "What's wrong with our Family?"

I dreamed of Noreen McGinley last night-so vividly that I felt compelled to write to her.  I have no reason to think my letter will reach her after so long (six years? or is it seven?) but at least I've tried.  And how many addresses in how many countries have I had in the last seven years?  More than I can remember...Hermit Hermit crab apparently got into the water last night, at least I heard his little claws scrabbling on the glass and his water dish was empty this morning.  We slept late (why not, nothing to get up for) and even so I was drowsy all day.It was very hot again today, like a blast furnace outside when I looked for the mail, so we dressed lightly and stayed in front of the fans.  I've read four of my new lot of books-Paul Gallieo's Mrs' Arris Goes to New York and Mrs Arris Goes to Parliament (a bit sad but I whs there were more of her adventures.  I've read Mrs. Arris Goes to Paris too and enjoyed them all, tho the only London Char I ever met-we couldn't afford one, I "charred" myself-wasn't the least bit like her); Charles Merril Smith's Reverend Randolliph and the Ways of Sin (his first novel tho not his first book) rather slow paced but nicely cynical; Ethel Gordon's The Freebody Heiress (two murderers avoiding the Gothics' usual neat solutions).  One, Gordon's Night Before The Wedding was so preposterous I didn't even read it.  I never can bring myself to believe in situations that call for enormous deployments of police to protect the endangered heroine, who is tethered like the sacrificial goat.  I've started another, Uncertain Voyage by the same Dorothy Gilman who writes about Mrs. Pollifax (now there's another heroine I really enjoy).  I enjoyed Gordon's cat books, too, but I prefer comedy to suspense.  I wish the authors I really like could write as fast as I can read.  Come to think of it, I imagine they wish so, too.  Finally, at about 5:00pm, it was cool enough so Pete and I went out on the front lawn for awhile.  The bark is shredding off the trees onto the lawn so we busied ourselves making jigsaw puzzles out of bark bits and trying to fit them back together again.  Sylvia called today to see if I would babysit for Davey and Sharon while she goes to Iseri's to try to find out what their plane fare to England will be (she said they'd called the airport 3 times and gotten 3 different estimates, and Iseri's had given them a (higher) fourth.  Pete didn't eat much today, only carrots for lunch (he left his hamburger and half a cube steak for dinner).  He said he was too tired to eat tonight, but I managed to give him a quick dip in the tub before he went to sleep.  We read only one story, Ten What (a mystery counting book) but I had to read it twice.  He liked the surrealistic illustrations (a fish and strawberries growing in trees).  I read him Sara Jack Keats' Peter's Chair at nap time.  He liked it because the little boy had his name and they had a new baby ("what's wrong with our family, Mommy?  Why don't we have a baby?")  He pretended his jump rope was a microphone cord tonight and sang a song ("all about love and Baby Jesus, Mommy") but it was very modern-I couldn't understand any of the words.  We watched an overdose of television today.