8/19/08

I’ve noticed some of you avoiding me lately in the grocery store. It may just be a lingering symptom of my OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder) or you may be afraid that I will include something you said to me in my little blog here.

Wikipedia describes a “blog” as a “web log” which provides commentary or descriptions of events. I think it’s hilarious that I have a blog. I call it an “article”, but since I provide both commentary (solicited or not) and description of events (your kids birthday party that we attended); I guess it could be a blog. At home, Emilee and I play “Dear Diary” where we (mostly I) write real or imaginary stories of our day. It’s just a game at home, but it’s for real on SCToday. Mother encourages me to print my article for posterity’s sake. Sort of like a real diary.

This week I am blogging about a few people I have had the pleasure of running into in town.

One evening I went into a local pharmacy to pick up a prescription for Emilee. I turned around to find Mr. Malcolm Weaver standing behind me. I’ve known Malcolm since I was about 10 years old. I know it was sometime around that time, because my mom sold real estate for Town ‘n Country. He would have been 62 years young.

When I won Poultry Festival Queen (in whatever year that was), Malcolm gave me a beautiful sweater from the Fashion. (Now we’re reaching back in time.) I often wondered if he had personally picked it out or if Lady Connie had. You know she had good taste if she picked Malcolm and vice versa of course. I wore the sweater for years. One day I washed it by hand and left it turned inside out to dry. The colors from the front of the sweater bled to the back. I was sick. My beautiful sweater that dear Malcolm had given me was no good.

I recently told Liza this story. She wanted to know if Lady Connie really was a Lady and how did Malcolm meet her. I suggested she ask him, but I suspected that they met during the war.
Sure enough, I asked Mother. Lady Constance was indeed a real Lady. And she was Malcolm’s nurse in England during WWII. Richard recalls that Lady Connie and Mrs. Middleton raised him at the Youth Center. (Now that is reaching back in time.) I wished Malcolm a belated birthday to which he replied he had been blessed. Like me, he didn’t know why he had blessed, but he had. I agree. I pray Malcolm that God continues to bless you. I know that you are a blessing to me.

Another day, Emilee and I were having lunch with Mother and Richard when we saw Catherine Livingston. Her maiden name was Plain. Her dad had an auto repair shop at Folsom Chapel. Ya’ll probably think Mom told me this too, but that would not be right. I remember it all clearly.
Ms. Catherine worked with mother at the school. Mr. James Livingston was one of my most favorite teachers in High School. He called me Christy at first. By the time I graduated, he had taught me Biology I and Biology II. I was also his aide my senior year, so he eventually called me Terrie. Their son Craig was in my class and Ronnie was about Jerrald’s age. Their pretty little daughter, Amy, was younger than Mary.

The summer between my 3rd grade and 4th grade year, my most favorite teacher in the universe, Vickie Birdwell was getting married to ol’ what-his-face. I was very upset. How on earth was I ever going to learn to call her Mrs. Edge? Her mother, Ms. Ira Jo, babysat me after school. Ms. Ira Jo was the best cafeteria lady in the universe. Her rolls were to die for. Her pb&j sandwiches were just as good. She’d mix the peanut butter and the jelly before she spread it on the bread. But I digress.

For some reason I can’t remember (mental block) I spent the weekend with and went with the Livingston’s to Vickie's wedding. On the bottom of Lyndon Edge’s shoes it said, Help Me! It was the funniest thing this nine and a half year old kid had ever seen. I even remember that I wore a light blue terry cloth dress. Can you believe it, terry cloth! Oh, those were the days. Ya’ll know I thought I was Farah Fawcett.

Someday, I’ll tell ya’ll some more about 3rd grade. I think it was the best year of my life, even if I didn’t have a fur coat like Misty Eaves and Kelly Noble had. It was after all the last year of the 70’s.

Ok. That was all very descriptive. Now for the commentary.

Emilee had taken a little horse to daycare with her the other day. She learned a hard lesson that day. Another child got her horse and ripped the hide and mane off of it. She was devastated.

Apparently, another child was also devastated. His name is Alex. Over the weekend, Alex had relayed the terribly sad story to his mother. She was so moved by his compassion for Emilee that she took him to the store to buy Emilee a new horse. Keep in mind, Alex was not the child that destroyed Emilee’s lovely purple horse, but he was the child that restored it, which restored my faith in people. He is only a child, but children have compassion that we do not have as adults, but should.

I Peter 3:8 - Finally, be ye all of one mind, having compassion one of another, love as brethren, be pitiful, be courteous.