I stood in the back of the middle school auditorium.
The same auditorium that served as the cafeteria.
The tables were removed to accommodate the chairs.
Chairs were set up in rows so the parents could support their children.

I had been in this room many times before.
I sat for orchestra concerts, choral concerts, jazz concerts, and award nights.
This day was different.
This day was a culmination of study on the Civil War.

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I am a shower person.
Some people are bath people as they enjoy a long soak in a tub.
I really love a nice, hot shower.
The hot water makes me come alive in the morning.

We have a footed tub in our master bathroom.
An old-fashioned claw foot tub with a telephone spray.
The tub is long enough for an adult to get lost for a while with a good book.
The tub is big enough for a young child to feel as if they are in a swimming pool.

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I couldn’t wait to learn cursive writing.
This type of writing was something you had to be old enough to do.
Cursive writing was not taught until third grade.
In my mind, third grade couldn’t come fast enough.

I knew that I would need a special tablet of paper.
I knew that I could even have a fountain pen with its own ink cartridge.
I was ready to turn simple block letters into an art form.
I looked over the cursive letters on the back of the tablet and traced them with my fingers.

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Anyone who knows me knows that I am the least likely person to be in a pageant.
I do not like that kind of attention.
I could never imagine being a participant.
Yet in my late teens that is exactly what happened.

When my mother died in my fifteenth year, many people took me under their wings.
Many women tried ever so sweetly to fill that huge hole in my life.
I am grateful to all of them.
One woman from church took it upon herself to help in an interesting way.

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In the house before this one, I had an idea.
We built the house all those years ago.
It was the second home we lived in.
It would not be our last.

Two daughters were born while we lived in our first house.
The other three children were born while we lived in our second one.
Nestled in the woods on a cul-de-sac, it was the perfect place to raise our children.
My idea was a way to extend the living space to the outside.

I really wanted a front porch.

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I have a beautiful scarf.
The scarf was handmade for me.
Handmade by a friend of my youngest daughter.
I admired it and was intrigued when she told me how the scarf was made.

I asked this sweet young woman to make a scarf for me.
I would only accept it, if she allowed me to pay for it.
I don’t charge for my scarves; the yarn is very inexpensive.
I wanted to encourage her in her endeavor: Your time and talent are worth it.

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My piano was tuned this morning.
The same woman has been coming to my home for years.
I am always amazed at her ability to hear the tiniest nuance of sound.
The piano that I thought was just fine was really quite flat.

She works with skill and precision.
She removes the top of the grand piano and begins.
She opens her box and selects the instruments she will use.
She laboriously adjusts each key with her tuning hammer.

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My youngest son just celebrated his birthday.
He came home for the weekend so we could all be together.
We went out to dinner and enjoyed each other’s company.
Being a youth pastor, he needed to leave early Sunday morning.

He sent me a text later that day.
Funny story, the text began, I went out to dinner, came home, and got sick.
I was sick all through the night; I think it may have been food poisoning.
There is a stomach virus going around, but this happened immediately after eating.

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