We went the cancer center this afternoon for Jimmy to get an infusion of Zometa, and while we were there, they did a CBC to check his blood counts. As we suspected, his red blood count is very low: it's up slightly from when we were at Emory ten days ago, but still so low his energy level is nil. He was so weak and pale today that I was afraid he was going to pass out. He's just going to have to forego his peanut and coke diet for a while, and choke down a steak or two. It's a shame he hates liver.

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Yesterday I went by to see my niece, Elizabeth Burns, my brother Mac's older daughter. Elizabeth and her husband Jonathan have two darling children: a son, Howell, who will be four in February, and a daughter, Berkley, about twenty months old.

Howell is friendly, outgoing, and very precocious, with a vocabulary that has been astounding us all since he was quite young. When he was not much over two years old, and barely potty trained, he was with his grandfather Mac one day. When Mac said, "Peuw! Howell! Have you messed up your pants?" Howell looked disdainful and answered, "Well, apparently so."

Mac was telling me today about Howell's recent conversation with a lady whom he had just met. She asked him if he was a hunter, and Howell replied that he was. "What do you hunt?" "Last week I got ten deer, twelve turkeys, and four astronauts!" Howell told her proudly. "FOUR ASTRONAUTS?" "Oh yes," sighed Howell, "only four. It was SO exasperating."