by Freida Marie Crump
Greetin’s from the Ridge.
Herb, you can’t sit there all winter."
Wake me when the robins sing, Freida. I’m in this house ‘til the tulips bloom."
Herb, it’s just the flu. So what if we get it? We’ve had it before and lived to tell about it."
I ain’t leavin’ this house without a flu shot."
It’s like gasoline, Herb. They jack up the price claimin’