Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Beautiful day ... still a bit grumpy

I woke up kinda grumpy this morning. I don’t do grumpy very often. Yesterday, I received a call [got the voicemail] from the division of non-public schools. The woman sounded so nasty. Telling me I hadn’t sent something in [which, in fact I had] and saying they have tried to contact me for a month, to no avail and I won’t return their calls. Grrrrr.
The truth of it is – I spoke with someone in her office last week to have them email me a form I needed – I returned their call within 10 minutes of receiving the message. I’m slightly embarrassed to say that I called her back and left an equally [not quite so mean] irritating voicemail. These are the people who get to decide whether or not I have an accredited school – Grrrrr.

Venting finished – on to rambling/babbling/something …

Another beautiful Spring day … I could so get used to this weather … manifesting a very early Spring.
We are going to spend some time outside today and go to the SportsPage for lunch …

I taught my friend, Terri, to crochet last Sunday – and today I heard from her. She is loving it [even with the sore hands and callused thumbs that do happen at the beginning] and is doing great. Crocheting is much more difficult to learn than it may seem. I’m so thrilled that she took to it so quickly …

Sharing an excerpt from Touched by Many

She was funny.
She was very smart.
She was a real mystery to me.

Everyone in my family looked strangely at her, and always told me never to eat anything that she brought into our home. My Dad used to get so irritated when she would say that he bit his fingernails because he was in the war.
Boy, did that make him angry.
My Dad liked to pretend there was never a World War II.
She wouldn’t let him forget it.
Maybe that was the problem.

She promised me that as soon as I knew all of my multiplication tables, she would bring a typewriter to me and teach me how to type …
fast, like she did.

I remember, just like it was yesterday, the day she came over through the snow, carrying an Underwood Typewriter.
We had to put it out on the front porch.
Because my family was very odd when it came to my Aunt Florence. Dad said she smelled like moth balls, and Nana said she ruined Uncle Let’s life.

They never like her. I liked her. I loved her.
She was magical to me.

She floated here and there, almost always wearing red. She was busy and always smiling. Her car was filled with shoes and purses … just in case she needed to refresh her outfits.

Her house was a mess.

It was a beautiful, old, white, two-story house, surrounded by lovely huge trees. Between our house and her house was an empty lot. We played there all of the time. I was constantly distracted by my curiosity. I always wanted to go inside, but, I was forbidden to do so.

A few times I peeked through her porch windows, and one time I walked right in the back door to see … ugh … dishes, pans, clothes, bags filled with whatever … newspapers everywhere.

When she moved out of the house, early in my teenage years, the hardwood floors in the house were in perfect condition. I don’t believe anyone had ever walked on them. For more than 30 years they were covered with debris.

Her husband, Lester, was my grandmother’s brother He was a bit off his rocker [as my Dad would say].

I don’t remember him before he had his accident. At 30 years old, right after he married Aunt Florence, he fell from the peak of a house he was building … right down to the concrete basement. Hit his head pretty hard, and never was the same again.

For some reason, my family blamed Aunt Florence for Uncle Let’s life changing from one of a strong man to that of a confused boy. I never could see that.
To me, she was a wonder. Magical.

Typing away with the patience of a saint, hands gloved … it was cold on that porch. She kept her word. She taught me home keys and all of the tricks to getting the paper and carbon paper in the typewriter straight. After a few lessons, she said I was ready to do it by myself. And she gave me the typewriter.

Keeping one’s word. She never told me to keep my word … she showed me … by keeping hers. Living life as you want to … no matter what all the ‘other people’ say.

She still sparks bright red wonder inside of my soul.

A single act of kindness throws out roots in all directions, and the roots spring up and make new trees. The greatest work that kindness does to others is that it makes them kind themselves. Amelia Earhart

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