Someone, perhaps my brother Dwight, has written a book and wants me to read it and give remarks. I do so. It has lots of colorful illustrations and I wonder if I should tell him that I think there are too many illustrations. It seems odd to be "complaining" about something fun and good. I decide to tell him, and he can do with it what he wants. I find a typo; the word "catch" is spelled "catche." I walk out to tell him. I realize I want my wheelchair and he asks if he should get it for me. I say, "Yes." Just then my three girls and their friends come out of the grove playing on my chair and we call out to them, "Hey, hey, I need the chair." They ignore us and go on and I try to yell, "Ellie." They turn back and I say, "Were you trying to pretend you didn't hear us?" They said no, smiling and got out of the chair. I got in, noticing it was my old one, and wondering why I left my new one in the building. Dwight and I go down the dirt road and turn right into a sort of wayside area in the trees. I start to tell him about my thoughts on the book, but have to stop because a small toothbrush head is stuck in my throat and I must swallow. I try to open a bottle of mineral water and it fizzes all over and then I swallow and swallow, trying to get it down. Finally it dislodges and goes down. I feel queasy, thinking about all that plastic and bristles in my insides. Then, a very short policeman comes right up to me. I thought he was hugging me, so I hug him back and then I realize he thinks I'm deaf and is leaning in to shout in my ear (my deaf one). He says he will keep an eye on the girls and I say, "That's a good idea."