My Journ al

By Harry Man Nelsin

28

Blast it to hel. This damn thing types what it wants, not what I say. And it can’t spell. It has been a week and it still can’t get things write. See? Good thing this is private. But I think I may go to a tape recorder.

In any case. Melody has kept her schedule and has been the e pit o me of a 1^st lady. Opening hospitals, shelters for people and animals, etcetera.

There was a picture in the newspaper of Lee with her standing in the oval office with the cat on the desk next to Lee and the dog at her feet. All were smiling, just as in that child’s drawing. And Lee was holding the drawing, now framed, to show it and his little family to the world.

I may be imagining things, but is her smile hiding a sweet secret? At least Lee has managed to calm her down.