It has already been established that I tend to burn my arm when I bake.
It is now known that my oven mitts are too short for my long arms.
They never seem to cover the place where the top rack of the oven meets my forearm.
The problem was sweetly handled when a deacon and his wife gave me a gift.

Shortly after reading about my continuous problem, he went on the computer.
He searched until he found what he was looking for.
That Sunday at church a few people told me that there was a present for me.
Since the service had already begun, I needed to wait until the end to retrieve my gift.

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The four Pevensie children were sent to live in the country during World War II.
They lived with the eccentric Professor Kirke.
On a rainy day, the children decided to explore the large house.
Lucy, the youngest, discovered an enormous wardrobe which she opened and stepped inside.

The wardrobe was a door to another place.
Lucy found herself in a strange, snowy wood, far from the rainy day she left in London.
Lucy had entered Narnia, a once beautiful place that was now enchanted by an evil White Witch.
It was now a place that is always winter and never Christmas.

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I watched him work so efficiently as he rung up all the groceries.
He talked to the customer in front of me without missing a beat.
The total of her order was a series of sevens.
Someone in line suggested she play the lottery.

This young man began to tell her all the reasons why gambling was not a good idea.
It’s really sad when people use their whole paycheck and just gamble it away.
He was young and I wondered how he knew that.
He has a good head on his shoulders, I assessed.

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Soon after we moved into our home almost nineteen years ago, I saw him.
He would take his walk around the neighborhood.
He took the same route then that I take now.
He would walk with a walking stick and he always wore a hat.

It was his hat that he would tip in my direction.
It was his walking stick that he would raise in the air to wave to me.
My aunt would have called him a dapper man.
I called him a gentleman.

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We got our first video camera when our oldest daughter was eighteen months old.
It was the perfect time to capture her life as a toddler.
It was the perfect time to record her little voice.
Time stands still for a moment when you watch old family videos.

Unless you had a video camera back in the early 80’s, you cannot relate to the differences.
Unlike the iPhone you can easily take out of your pocket or purse, this camera was large.
It resembled a brick; a brick that needed to rest on your shoulder.
A brick that needed to be plugged into an electrical outlet since the battery life was short.

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I remember playing the game as a little girl.
Since everyone had sidewalks, it was easy to play.
Don’t step on a crack or you’ll break your mother’s back. When I think of the words we said in our singsong voice, I cringe.

We didn’t think about the words; they rhymed and that was all that mattered.
We only thought about the rhythm.
We only thought about our footsteps.
We only thought about avoiding every crack.

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We needed to run to the store with the bulls-eye.
Except this store was not in our hometown.
This particular store was near my daughter’s college.
She hung soft white lights around her dorm room and needed another strand.

As we walked through the store, I heard it.
The desperate hunger cry of a baby.
The cry was loud and demanding.
This little one was obviously very hungry.

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You couldn’t wait until you were old enough.
You would finally be the oldest ones in the school.
After years of waiting, you were now the ones in charge.
Not in charge of the teachers or the principal; rather over all the younger students.

It was the privilege of an eighth grader.
Only an eighth grader could be a safety.
A safety got to wear a badge on their upper arm.
A safety was assigned a post that he or she was in charge of.

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I love people.
They energize me.
I always find it fascinating to listen to their stories.
I could go about my days just talking and listening to people and be wonderfully content.

I learn so much when I listen to another person.
Not the nosy kind of information.
Rather interesting reflections and insights.
Different perspectives to view the world.

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I wind my clocks every Monday.
There are two clocks that need my attention.
The mantle clock that my husband gave me when I was carrying our first child.
The grandfather’s clock that my husband gave me years later for our anniversary.

I love the sound of my clocks.
They faithfully chime on the quarter hour.
There is comfort in the sound of the chimes.
There is solace in the sound of the ticking.

Until today.

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