The rain has stopped as has my work on the ark, but scattered showers are predicted so I’ll keep the tools handy. The kitchen floor is filled with paw prints. The backyard is soaked. 

My sloth must have been napping this morning as I have already changed my bed, taken my shower and cleaned down the stairs. I’m exhausted!

In the winter, my mother usually made us a hot breakfast before school. My favorite was soft boiled eggs. She used to serve the eggs in yellow Fanny Farmer duck egg holders. She would cut off the top of the egg and have toast around the plate. The toast was cut into strips the perfect size for dunking. When I first moved into this house, I had only a few pieces of furniture, a frying pan and two pots, a few dishes, a TV and a couch for my bed. My parents came to visit to see the house. My mother brought a few memories. She brought down two duck egg cups. Each duck had lost its beak. I loved those ducks, beaks or no beaks. They are still in my kitchen.

I remember classmates from grammar school. Many of us were together for eight years. After graduation, I lost touch with most of them. I wonder about them. I had a crazy, old nun in the eighth grade, Sister Hildegard. It was our life’s mission to take advantage of her. She hated us. One poor classmate was somehow related to her. Her name was Eleanor, and she sat in the last desk in the fourth row. I remember one day when Sister Hildegard went off on Eleanor who had rolled her skirt at the waist to make it shorter. Somehow Sister Hildegard noticed and went up the row toward Eleanor so fast her veil was blowing behind her. She yelled and pulled the skirt so far down you could see the top of Eleanor’s slip under the skirt. Eleanor started crying. No one made fun of her or laughed. We were horrified for her. I have never forgotten.

When I was a junior in high school on a late Friday afternoon, only a nun and I were left to finish decorating the gym for a dance that night. She was on a ladder. At some point she dropped the decoration and said, “Shit.” I was taken aback. A nun swearing? I never really thought of nuns as regular people. They were a breed unto themselves. We had three sexes: men, women and nuns. 

My dance card has three entries, all uke related. I have practice, a lesson and a concert on Friday. We are still singing funny food songs. 

This entry was posted on April 8, 2025 at 12:47 pm and is filed under Musings. You can subscribe via RSS 2.0 feed to this post's comments. Both comments and pings are currently closed.