The sweet aroma of biscuits filled her bedroom. She dressed quickly and rushed downstairs. Her uncombed hair fell loosely around her shoulders and matts of blond curls stood straight up in the back. “Good morning,” said a sweet frail voice. “Biscuits smell good Nan, are they ready?” she asked. “Right after your hair is combed dear and you are dressed properly. Every meal deserves respect.” It was going to be a long summer for Jordan Miller.
April 3, 2007