As a third grader, I discovered my teacher’s age, quite by accident.
I had passed by while she was having a conversation with another adult, and I remember thinking that 30 was quite old. She was all of 23 years older than I was. How incredibly ancient!
Twenty-three years, to my seven-year-old mind, was a very long time.
I like rainy days – most of the time.
But not today.
Pounding drops on zinc roof, barely muffled by the ceiling beneath, nag and annoy. The forecast cold front still lingers near this bit of rock in the Caribbean Sea and I sympathize with my friends up north who are stuck with snow piles and temperatures below zero. My 18-degree temps cannot compare, but I shiver, pull on socks and attempt to think of warmer days.
As much as I love avocados, I was not about to eat that one.
JB had always been friendly but something had shifted. She seemed agitated that day she showed up at my doorstep and I did not feel impressed to ask why. She wanted to know if I remembered asking her to obtain something through a sister she had overseas.
I did not, because I had not. What I did have, however, was a vivid recollection of her making an offer which I never pursued. I reminded her of that fact and she went ballistic for some reason.
She remembered differently and, as she stormed out through the front gate, I pondered whether she was losing her mind. That was the last time she actually spoke to me although I saw her in the community on a regular basis.
Then it happened.
The Canadians celebrated Thanksgiving Day in October, and my American friends are celebrating Thanksgiving Day today.
Both celebrations involve large family gatherings and I often wonder how they can work up enthusiasm year after year, after year (you get the idea).
In my family of origin, funerals were the large family gatherings we attended. No reunions. No Christmas dinners. No bridal/baby showers. No nothing.
There may have been weddings, but I might have been too young to remember anything that occurred. When you are born as far down the line as I was, you tend to miss out on a few things.
But those funerals were something else.