Nancy Travis Iris Photo

HERE 

IS 

HOW YOU KNOW 

YOU ARE HAVING 

A GREAT DAY !
(Yesterday!)
9-27-2013

You wake up about 8am, and feel pretty decent.  Nothing is hurting, maybe a little sore but no big deal.

You make coffee.  It turns out just right.  You get breakfast, usual Special K and some Kashi Cinnamon Harvest mixed in.  Oh, yeah, don’t forget to take pills.

Morning Bible reading: still in I Samuel, and trying to understand how King Saul could possibly be so mean and jealous and actually intent on killing David.  Remember him, the shepherd kid with five smooth stones who killed the giant Goliath. 

Facebook’s got lots of messages, after all there’s an abundance of family and friends to keep track.  While I’m doing fb, I’m also keeping watch on the patio. 

First visitor today is a pretty "painted lady" butterfly

who delights in parking on the finch feeder.  My friend Clara tells me they love thistle seed, so perhaps that is her treat.  Next comes a hummingbird who thinks the red lid on the bird feeder is for him.  Not so.  He’s out of here.  

But, next is a fat little sparrow, who parks on the bird feeder and sits for a while.  

She’s not hungry, barely pecking at the seeds.  

Pretty soon she flies over to the bird bath and hangs out for a drink, 

Then takes a spa treatment

Dries off on the edge and finally goes on her way.

 

Next I get a call from the flower shop.  “When can we please bring you some flowers?”  Oh anytime, I’m home all day today.

Then comes a pretty dark blue van.  Doesn’t say 'flowers' on it, but a lady gets out and has flowers.  Wow, It’s Carol Koehler, my friend from Whiteash Church and she’s bringing in a dozen long stemmed yellow roses (my very favorite).  Carol started her own ministry years ago.  It’s called, Random Acts of Kindness.  She is herself a picture of kindness

Then I get a call from Aunt Pat.   My cousin Scott Grant is home from Tennessee and will I be home so they can come visit?  Oh, WOW, I haven’t seen Scott in years, way too many years! 

Well, yes indeedy, I’m not going anywhere!

 

 Okay, so now, it’s the Les Marie flower Van in the drive way.  Gorgeous yellow lilies from my friends the “Girls of the Class of 63).  By the way, we’re celebrating our Fifty Year Reunion for the Class of 1963 Herrin Township High School the weekend of Oct 11-12.

 

So next is my neighbor from the next court over, Joanna.  Joanna has had 19 operations and has had her left knee replaced twice.  She has appointed herself my personal watch over/take care/make sure Doris Ann is okay.  We watched the cowboys on History Channel for a while and visited.  She's SPECIAL!

Then comes Aunt Pat and Scottie.  I can’t believe how these kids grow.  

For those of you FAMILY, who don't know Scott too well, I think he is a great conversationalist.  We discussed lots of different topics.  He's a good talker, BUT he also is a good listener.  He's a lot like Uncle Lindell Dean, but definitely he has his own personality.  AND a super contagious SMILE.  I enjoyed our visit immensely.  (Funny thing, Aunt Pat got up to go like 2-3 times but Scott and I just kept talking and she'd just sit back down.)  Scott lives in Nashville and owns/operates his own business.  Awesome successful guy.  By the way, did you know his first name is Herbert.  Personally, I kinda like that!

Scott is my youngest cousin, the youngest grandchild of Herbert and Mamie Dell Sanders Grant, and son of Lindell Dean Grant and Patricia Ann Knight Grant.  Scott is the last child born of the youngest of the Herbert/Mamie Grant's nine children.  And I am the first child born of the eldest of the Herbert/Mamie Grant's nine children.  Lola, the eldest and Lindell Dean the youngest.  SOOOO, does that make us kinda special or what?  Anyway, here we are!

Doris Ann Grant Frey and Herbert Scott Grant

Then I get a surprise visit from Gib and Elaine.  He’s also celebrating 50 years out of high school , so they’re between celebrations.  Visiting with my sis/cousin and hubby Gib is always the best.

Uh Huh, this is how you know you’ve had a really terrific day.  

It’s 9:23 pm and the Cardinals are playing the Cubs and they’re (CARDS) ahead 6-0.  

Okay, I gotta go see this.  

I hope I can stay awake to see the end of the game.

Copyright - 2013 - Doris Grant Frey

JUST FIVE SMOOTH STONES 

  

Holy Bible

I Samuel 17:  Vrs 38-40

³⁸ Then Saul dressed David in his own tunic. He put a coat of armor on him and a bronze helmet on his head. ³⁹ David fastened on his sword over the tunic and tried walking around, because he was not used to them.

“I cannot go in these,” he said to Saul, “because I am not used to them.” So he took them off. ⁴⁰ Then he took his staff in his hand, chose five smooth stones from the stream, put them in the pouch of his shepherd’s bag and, with his sling in his hand, approached the Philistine.

                Five smooth stones.  I imagine the young shepherd wading in the stream and carefully choosing five smooth stones.

 

 

      Obviously, they had to be smooth, no rough edges or they’d get caught in the sling and veer off course.  But did you ever wonder why he took five? 

 

 

It only took one careful aim to fall the giant Goliath.

               I’ve been wondering.  If I named each stone, what five words would I choose?

 

                Hey, you go first, Okay?

? Possibilities ?

     Did you think about it? 

     Choose them carefully.  They may need some smoothing.

     Here’s mine:    

FAITH

CONFIDENCE

FOCUS

SKILL

TRUST

         If we read the first 37 verses, it’s obvious that David had all of these in his pouch. 

It really didn’t matter which stone he picked to sling at the giant, he was already the victor.

 

 

 

Got any giants in your life?

Choose your stones carefully!

 

Copyright - 2013 - Doris Grant Frey

 

 

Mandy's Quilt (Amanda Trill)

      Mandy's Quilt was started years ago.  So long ago, that I'm admittedly ashamed that it took so long to complete it.  The blocks were taken from embroidery transfers and traced from coloring book pages.  They were embroidered years ago. In fact, I'm sure one or more of them were done by her Grandmother, Mrs. Flossine Carlisle Hawn.  And a couple were probably done by my Mother, Lola Estelline Grant Bandy.  I sincerely wish I could say which ones.  I did the rest and they remained stacked in a pile that was moved from 617 N. 13th St in Herrin to Prosperity Rd in Johnston City and finally to 708 Sylvia St. in Christopher, Illinois, which is ironically the hometown of Mandy's grandmother. 

      Life and all its events through the years seemed the major obstacle to finishing this 'well planned' quilt.  It seemed that being 'well planned' was about all it had going in its favor.  And it was 'well planned', as each block represents something special about Mandy's childhood.

      Cats.  The center is a lovely yellow kitten.  There were always cats and kittens about the Trill place.  And currently, Amanda has a yellow cat named Lincoln, and a yellow cat named Abe. It seems a somewhat curious coincidence that many years ago I chose to embroider the kitten in yellow.

      Above the kitten is a rooster.  This is perhaps the most mysterious block on Mandy's Quilt.  I'm not remembering anything special about a rooster except that I think Burl Hawn had some chickens on the rear of his property.  When firstborn, Amanda came home to a mobile home located on Mrs. Carlisle's property which sort of backed up to Burl's property.  So the rooster reminds us of Fudgetown folks and that Burl actually married Flossine later in life.

      To the right above is a sunflower.  Mandy's father Lawrence always raised sunflowers.  And they were always beautiful.  Seeds were harvested as well to feed the Fudgetown birds.

      Below the sunflower is a coloring book sketch of three strawberries.  Lawrence also had a terrific strawberry patch.  One year, seems she was about four, Mandy found her way to the strawberry patch and ate her self sickly on fresh strawberries.  I think she still really likes strawberries.

      Below that and last on the right side is a pumpkin.  Halloween was a fun time for dress-up and she always did and came trick-or-treating to my house in Ferges or in Herrin.

      On the left upper is a sunshine and clouds sketch, another coloring book page.  I put that in because Mandy was (is) always a bright and shining light in our lives and now brings a smile as I think about past times with her and how she approaches life with such a positive outlook.

      Below the sunshine and clouds is a monkey. Well, I have to admit I got in trouble the day she came home from the nursery.  I went down to see my friend Clara's baby girl that we had waited and prayed and hoped for so long.  Mother Clara and Grandmother Flossine were fussing over this wrinkled up little prune and I made the most horrible mistake of saying, bluntly, "She looks like a wart."  Not good!  No siree!  That was not good.  So, after I had a chance to think about it, I always called her a little monkey.  Not sure anyone liked that much better, but I thought she was awful cute and Little Monkey was a sweet name to me.

      In the bottom left corner, another coloring book page with honey bees.  Remember, in the good old days, we had all kinds of magnets on our fridge doors.  Well, I had bees that were magnets, seems like 4-5 of them.  When Clara and Mandy came to visit, she played with all the honey bees on the fridge door.  Rearranging them often and on every visit.

      One block left, at the bottom center.  Well, obviously that's a cowboy boot.  When she was 4 or 5 she fell in love with the Oak Ridge Boys.  By 5 years old, she and I were full fledged members of the Oak Ridge Boys Fan Club.  That summer we camped in Nashville and went to Fan Fair.  Mandy and I climbed the steps of the Opryland Hotel.  We went into a large room filled with rows and rows of chairs.  The Oak Ridge boys came out, one behind the other, spaced several minutes apart.  They came around and actually met and talked with everyone.  We sat anxiously waiting.  Joe came out first and worked his way around the rows.  Then Joe came around the end and started up our row.  We were so excited.  When he got to us, he stopped in front of Mandy and said, "Hi."  Mandy was mesmerized and speechless.  She simply could not speak.  I told Joe who she was and what a great fan she was.  And he tried and tried, but Mandy could not say a word.  But Joe understood.  And she has been a loyal fan and today, all the Oaks know Amanda Trill by sight and by name.  If you don't believe me, just go to an Oaks concert with her (I am in April 2014) and you'll see.

      And the rest of the story is that those quilt blocks rested in my sewing room in Christopher until I retired in 2009.  Then they were one of the first projects I tackled.  I searched deliberately and was determined to have a kitty cat calico print to set it together.  I finally found that at JoAnne's in Belleville.  I'm sorry it took so long, but I'm proud of the baby-girl-woman that she is.  And I am happy to win any kind of ribbons from the county fairs in Southern Illinois for Mandy's Quilt!

Father’s Day June 16, 2013

I’ve been seeing all my friends and family posts on facebook honoring their fathers and proudly showing their photos.  Some are just their Dad, some are just that person and their Dad, and some are photos of the whole family.  I love to browse their postings and think how blessed they have been with an earthly father.

My biological father died three months before I was born.  He and my mother never married.  I was a 1946 illegitimate child of a single never wed mother.  I had the audacity to show up on a Mother’s Day.  And she told me she was in labor all day.  Finally, I gave up kicking and came out about 5 pm. 

At the age of six years, she married a man, “So you will have a father..”   I know there are some wonderful stepfathers in the world.  I’ve see them in other’s lives.  That’s all I’m going to say about that.

When I was six, (before she got married), I went to vacation Bible School at the Fudgetown (Ferges) Free Methodist Church.  We learned songs, made crafts and at the end of every day’s class had a worship session up in the sanctuary.  One day, I was painfully aware that I did not have a ‘father’.  Everybody else had one.  All my cousins had one, plus grandpas and grandmas and brothers and sisters.  I had Mom and Grandma.  I was acutely aware of my low station in life.  At six years old, at an alter at Fudgetown Free Methodist Church I gave my heart to Jesus and asked him to be my father. 

He has never failed to be just that!

He has shown me that Mom’s intentions were good 

and based on love, in that she did not abort me 

and tried to raise me with an awareness of HIM.

He has shown me that sometimes a good Gramma 

and a good Mom and Him are all you need to get a good start.

He has shown me what true and romantic love is in 

the relationship He gave me and Gary.

He holds me in His arms when I cry.

He lifts me up when I am weak.

He calms my heart when I’m in turmoil.

He gives me a song when I am sad.

He writes me love letters every day in His own Words.

He’s shown me over and over that 

‘In spite of what I WANT’, 

He is all I need.

I pray that when my Heavenly Father 

looks down today, that He is happy 

with what He sees!

Copyright 2013 Doris Grant Frey

LEGACY of NURSING

(LEGACY:  Inheritance, heritage, something transmitted by or received from an ancestor or predecessor, or from the past.   Merriam-Webster)

I'm calling this, the 'Biscuit' iris.

Well, I was texting today with my cousin/sis Sharon from Goreville.  As it happens they were in Marion, so we met at Gabby and Gramma’s for lunch (out by New Virginia) with her handsome husband Lavon.  (The boyfriend I tried to steal from her in high school, but he got away – from me – but not from her.)  Anyway the kid from Happy Hollow bought our lunch.  Thank you, Lavon.  And I got to see Dr. Roger Hendricks and Pam, talked a bit.  Now, there are some good hospital doc/nursing stories, but better save for another time.  And met another old friend, Gwen, from Grace Baptist in West Frankfort. 

Then we got to talking to the waitress (Gabby’s daughter) who knew Lavon and Sharon from working in a prior  Gabby’s restaurant, in Goreville.  Turns out she’s married to Don Stroud whose sister was Brenda Stroud McKeand.  I worked with Brenda, RN, at Herrin Hospital and Marion VA.  Brenda died Dec 21, 2010.

Brenda Stroud McKeand

Brenda was also a poet and had a small chapbook of poems published.  She wrote a poem each year for Nurses’ Day.  One year at the VA, she called me and said she wanted to talk to me about my nursing career for a poem she was going to write.  So I agreed.  We talked.  She wrote it.  Later, she actually published her book of poems.  And I’m honored that it is the very first poem in her book. 

                                                                                                                                                             

Yes, this was when all student nurses wore blue checked or striped dresses, stiff starched collars and cuffs, white aprons and, yes, white starched caps on our heads.

So, I told the waitress about knowing Brenda and we all had tears in our eyes before it was over.  The proceeds from her poem book established a nursing scholarship in her name at Johnston City High School. 

(Now, you may think I'm chasing rabbits, but, please, stay with me.)

Gary and I bought the Johnston City house on Prosperity Rd in 1994.  That fall the youngest Crain family moved in next door on the South.  So every house from us, south on Prosperity Rd., all the way to Stotlar was inhabited by a Crain family.  We joked that Mr. Kenny Crain was our Mayor.  Thought we ought to call our community Crainville instead of Boyd Knob.  His grand-daughter, Emmy Gael was a babe in arms.  Sisters, Natasha and Hannah used to play in our front field and rode sleds down our hill when it snowed and bicycles in our driveway in the summer.  Emmy Gael grew.  

Emmy Gael Crain

She used to come up to the house to talk and play with Biscuit.  Biscuit was my Y2K (remember that?) cat, all yellow with a white ring around his neck.  So when he curled up asleep he looked like a fat little biscuit.  Anyway, Emmy persevered greatly at trying to teach Biscuit how to dance.  She’d take both his front paws and lift them up and sway and sing and dance.  Biscuit allowed this, but I’m not sure I’d say he ever danced.  When we moved to Christopher in 2005, I couldn’t see Biscuit making the move.  He was a hunter, leaving back door trophies, live in the woods -  kind of cat.  I figured he’d head south to Johnston City and to his woods between Highway 57 and Prosperity Rd.  So Emmy Gael took Biscuit and kept him and loved him, as I knew she would.  When I moved back to Herrin, 2011, on Callie Court, Emmy, now all grown up and in high school, came by to visit.  She announced she was going to be a nurse.  I was so proud of her.  And tonight, May 16, 2013, she graduated from high school.

Johnston City High School

CONGRATULATIONS EMMY GAEL !!

And this year, the winner of the Brenda Stroud McKeand Nursing Scholarship is none other than my precious friend from Prosperity Road, Emmy Gale Crain.

Emmy has already earned her nursing assistant certificate and plans to go on.  

Brenda’s daughter Sherry became an RN.  

 

And Lavon and Sharon’s granddaughter, my third cousin, a 2013 Goreville HS

graduate with her own honors and scholarships,
 

 

 Alexandria, has chosen to become a nurse practitioner. 

Here is Brenda’s poem about my nursing life. 

Those of you who are nurses and knew me as such,

student and graduate, will recognize me in

Brenda’s skillful use of words.

By Brenda McKeand in

“The Summer of Riding Horses. 

About Nursing and other things.” 

Copyright 2010

The Story of a Nurse

Blue and white checked dresses;

Stiffly starched collars and cuffs;

Bright white ruffled pinafores.

Like nuns to morning chapel,

first inspection of the day.

Menial work, late classes,

cloistered lives, learning.

In the newborn nursery,

I held the tiny preemie,

the first feeding for this sad

scrap of life left by a mom

lost to addiction and pain.

Cleft lip, palate, just three pounds.

I prayed for God to assist.

thirty CC’s slid down the tube-

no distress, he’s on his way.

Three months later, he’s a son

going home with his new mom.

Billy, the chemo patient

trimming his beloved roses,

severed his infusion line.

Jokes in a blue binder;

aura of laughter and hope.

Then he gave me the binder,

saying, “It’s not fun anymore”.

Needing us to understand,

to accept his choice to die;

and pass his joke legacy

on to ourselves and others.

Jean had schizophrenia;

had not spoken in nine years.

A wasted life, one might say.

Veteran of shock treatments;

insulin and electric,

cold wet packs, group therapy.

My assignment - to sit with her,

write the experience down.

Days passé with no response.

Jean was silent; my pages blank.

When she spoke, “My name is Jean",

I understood what I had done.

I’ve since become a manager;

teacher to other nurses:

computers, standards of care,

budgets, management, leading.

Three lessons I have learned:

trust in God to guide my hands;

accept the patient’s wishes

when I don’t want him to die;

listen, Nursing’s greatest skill.

It really is a small world. 

It really is amazing how life comes full circle. 

It is invigorating to feel how much life can show you in just one day.  

So this legacy that we love is called nursing.  

And it lives on!

Copyright – 2013 – Doris Grant Frey

Memories, My Cowboy!

MEMORIES                                                                                                              May 11, 2013

Twenty three years ago today my life was changed in the most marvelous way.  

I became Mrs. Gary Frey.  

I had said I’d never find another man.  

I had said I’d never love again.  

AND I had said I’d never get married again.  

Just take it from me.  

Never say, “Never.”

This is the first picture that was taken of Gary and me.  My boss at the Veterans Hospital was expecting a baby.  Another friend was having a baby shower for her at her home in Goreville.  We were invited.  I told Gary we were going to a ‘baby shower’ and he told me, “I don’t do baby showers.  They're for women.”  I asked him would he please go because other husbands were going to be there too.  So he reluctantly said okay.  (Maybe just because it was ‘my boss.’)  This is our first picture.  Probably fall 1989.

On May 11, 1990, we were married.  Uncle Harry and Aunt Helena (that’s his uncle who married my aunt and that’s a whole  ‘nother story') and Uncle Charlie and Aunt Viola went with us to the court house in Paducah, Kentucky.  So we signed in and were told to wait.  The judge was not in yet.  So we did.  Later in walks Judge Heinz wearing, of all things, a pink sport coat.  Seems, he had already been to another wedding.  So he looks at us and says, “I hear there’s somebody wants to get married.”  And Gary said, “That’s us.”  So we went into the Judge’s chambers and got married.

This is the last picture of Gary and me.  It’s September 4, 2010.  On September 2 Gary was diagnosed with Myelodysplastic Syndrome (MDS).  In his case, that translated to cancer of the bone marrow.  He died on November 21, 2010.  I will never understand how your life can change in the fleeting of a moment.  But it can and it does.  

Happy Anniversary, my Cowboy, Rest In Peace!

Copyright - 2013 - Doris Grant Frey

"GODDESS OF LOVE IRIS"

It's Spring 

and 

time 

for

a

love

story!

The Kid From Vinegar Hill

They were an older couple.  I’d seen them there before.  I was having my usual Friday (after the beauty shop) routine lunch with my Aunt Delores and friend Pauline.  Steaks to order, with hot food bar, salad bar, fruits, jellos and puddings.  There were lots of deserts, plenty of choices, healthy and not.  But there’s no orange cake.  Could not believe it, no orange cake!  I threatened to stage a stand-in till some orange cake appeared, but the other diners just kind of stared at me.  The waitress said they “were out.”  Impossible!  They always have orange cake.  Well, little did I know that something bigger and better and much more important than orange cake was going to happen that Friday? 

They always sat at the same table, when I’d seen them there.  Over by the wall, a table for six, but just the two of them, side by side and not across from each other.  I guessed they chose that table so they could sit side by side; obviously you couldn’t at the rest of the tables, square, four seaters. 

But this time, we had arrived first.  I noticed them coming in the door. 

They walked around the entrance.  She was slow, slightly stooped.  He was helping, holding her arm.  He stopped and got her settled at that table before going in the line to pick up the tray, silver, plates, and to pay.  She looked disabled, a little - just not quite in touch.  Dressed neatly, but a sort of blank look, hair grayish and permed, but straying about in kind of loose frizzy curls.  He came with the tray and stuff and set everything out for her first, then himself.  He made several trips back and forth to the buffet, bringing her food, setting things about in order for her.  Then he made a trip or two for himself.  I watched them kind of over my shoulder as our meal went on.  I could see that she was feeding herself very carefully.

We finished eating first, of course.  At this point, I’m yearning in my heart to speak with this couple.  They are behind me.  I have to turn half way around to see them.  Since I’m the driver today, I ask my partners if they’re in a hurry. They say ‘not.’ 

“Okay,” I say, “I’ve got to talk to those people over there.” 

Pauline, “Oh, do you know them?” 

Me, “I’m about to.” 

Aunt Delores gives me one of those quizzical looks (what’s she up to now?). 

Pauline, in her usual trusting/anything goes manner, says simply, “Okay.”

Soon, he makes another trip to the buffet and returns.  I wait a couple minutes.  Then I go.

“Hi, I wonder if I could sit with you for just a couple of minutes.”  She looks up, not exactly confused, but certainly questioning.  He smiles, clear blue eyes, and says, “Yes, it’s okay.”   (Thinking back, I wonder if he might have even been glad to have ‘conversation’.) 

So I begin:  “Well, I don’t want to take up your time, but I collect love stories.  I don’t have to know your names or impose on your identity, but you look to me like ‘a love story’.  And I have to ask!  Because I collect love stories.”  He smiled the biggest smile, and his eyes lit up like a sunny sky.  “Yes, we do have a love story” he said.

“I don’t want to make your food get cold.  I just need to know the gist of it.  Tell me how you met.”  I direct this to her.  She looks at me, good eye contact, but her face is blank.  But I see something in her eyes, it’s almost a smile, but questioning, something desperate, like she wants to tell me, but she just can’t.  He speaks, “She can’t tell you, but I will.  She’s had a stroke.”  I smiled at her and shook my head in affirmation.  Told them I’d been a nurse and understood.  She seemed to relax.

He began, “She was in the eighth grade.  Her folks moved from West Frankfort to White Ash.”  He looks at me with raised eyebrows, a question mark. 

“Yes, of course, I know where White Ash is.”  I respond. 

He says, “I grew up in Vinegar Hill.”  Looks at me again.

“Yes, I know Vinegar Hill.  I grew up in FudgeTown.” 

He smiles and goes on.  “Well, I used to take walks up and around White Ash.  She was always out in the front yard in a swing.  I thought she was so pretty.  I was a freshman in high school.  So I’d walk up there all the time.  She’d be sitting in the swing.  She just kept getting prettier and prettier.  I said to myself, ‘I’m going to marry that girl someday’.  The next year she started high school.  We dated and we were sweethearts.” 

I interjected, “So, this was not puppy love?” 

He responds quickly, “Oh, no!  It was real true love.  It was a miracle.” 

I glance at her.  I swear she’s smiling in her eyes, gleaming, but the rest of her face refuses to cooperate.  I smile at her.  She lifts her head up and straightens her shoulders, then just slightly nodding her head.  And I know she’s smiling inside. 

“So we got married in 1950,” he said. 

I’m doing quick math and coming up with 50, no 60, well, 63 years. 

“So you are married 63 years?”

And he replies, “Yes, in August.” 

I congratulate them both and express my admiration.  He says she had the stroke three years ago, no speech since, that the doctor and therapists told him ‘no hope.’ 

But he says, “Where there’s life, there’s hope, and as long is God is in it . . .”  He pauses.

“You’re not giving up,” I finish it for him.  He nods.  (I thought he might have a tear in his eyes.  It was that kind of moment.  But, no, there were no tears.  He’s smiling again.)  I agree, “As long as God is in it.”  And I can see in her eyes that she is truly a miracle.  She must have been a beautiful little girl.  In some ways she still is.  He loves her just the same as then.  And even more!

I thank them, and leave them to their dinner. 

I walk away with a tear in my eye, but a smile in my heart.  Because they are still, really, husband and wife; somebody’s father and mother.  They are God’s creation and a wholesome witness in 2013 of His plan for a kid from Vinegar Hill and a pretty little girl from White Ash.

As I get close to the Exit door, I turn, look back and he waves.  I wave back and then I wait.  He pokes her arm and points and she turns and waves.  And I’m sure, she smiled.

Copyright - 2013 - Doris Grant Frey