Breakfast and the paper. Carol is at a First Watch breakfast with her retired teacher friends. Today you are to price toilets at Ferguson’s and Lowe’s and let your contractor, Scott, know as he gave you prices for installation.
I am thinking any readers I may have must assume I lead a very boring life. In a way I suppose it is, but I am content. I remember when I retired my then colleague; my friend and muse, Laney Bender-Slack, asked me if was content as we sat at a table in a nearby pub, the two of us plus the rest of the English department. At the time, during the festivities she turned to me and asked, “Are you content?” I have thought about that off and on over the years since that Spring in 2003. Laney had set up a party, she had shown a film she had secretly made of interviews of selected staff and a former principal about incidences remembered in relationship to my interactions over those many teaching years at Wm. Mason High. I admire her greatly for, with two children, taking on her doctorate. Now she is a professor at Xavier in Cincinnati. One enthusiastic and determined woman is Laney-Bender-Slack still. Whenever the word “content” comes up in context, she rolls up out of my heart.
I then, wonder, like now, how is that? Where is she (as well as other friends) in my heart otherwise? Is it memory or something more? With questions always coming up I am not bored. Life is interesting, how we unconsciously catalogue (sometimes even more secretly) those family and friends we love.
A period placed after “love” and you wonder where all that came from. You know it was triggered by the word “content” and a one time memory, yet the memory is coated with more than what it is, and the coating is not imagination. Surely, you think, as she is a ‘busy’ friend (school is in session) it is from your heart where you assume most friends reside. A “muse” does not reside in the heart, boy. Muses are free to come and go throughout heartansoulanmind as are all true friends. Too romantic-minded for you, isn’t it? You see, it is not so for me. Think about that, boy, and put it in your neo-classic pipe and give it a smoke. Post. – Amorella.
Moving on dusk after another busy day, this time shopping and pricing toilets in the real world rather than online. You also met with the contractor and he will give an estimate tomorrow on the exterior painting (trim, gutters and garage door), which if you take it, they will begin next week.
Also, you received a treat in the mail, an autobiography titled Grandpa Griff, by Glenn Griffith, the Vocational Agriculture teacher at Westerville High in 1960 and beyond. He was the father of Kay (the identical twin) who was your junior high school girlfriend; at least in your eyes she was. You asked to read it and Kay sent it. Just what is need to remind yourself that among other things, you are still alive, and open to worlds beyond yourself.
Boy, that’s a great statement. So true. I am open to other worlds. It is going to be an interesting and fun read. I think the last autobiography I read was James Michener’s.
That said, you are ready to shut up for the night. Just as well. Post. – Amorella.
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