Hello, Readers.
It's mid March here in Erie.
That means the Lake Erie ice is breaking up.
That also means some days are like this.
Others, like this.
Let's take tonight, for example.
Even though we spent most of tonight couching it,
dreaming of warmer days,
March marches on.
Last weekend was a beauty.
We took a drive to Red's for pancakes.
The guys thought they could beat the All You Can Eat
Pancake Record, but 10 didn't even come close.
I think it's 49!
Sam and his teammates traded the basketball bench for theater seats
and went to see Harbor Creek's Seussical.
The high schoolers returned to stage performances.
When you march through all seasons,
either weather or sports--
it's an adventure.
We are starting to think about which trails
we will march through this summer.
Any Readers visited this place yet?
It's topping the list at the moment.
Ranking at the bottom of my list this week is this guy.
The stray cat Charlie who wormed his way into my parents' house
for rest and rehabilitation as he was rescued from the wilds--
skin and bones
but chock full of fleas and worms.
Charlie's now up to date on his vaccinations and is awaiting
his snip snip appointment in a couple of weeks.
He wants nothing but to be outside.
He escaped.
Twice.
Twice.
Charlie is looking for a girlfriend
and has been causing a cat ruckus in the woods.
I ripped my favorite pajama bottoms
grabbing him out from under a pricker bush.
Thanks to all the neighbors and park guys
who kept and eye out for him.
He's resting peacefully,
dreaming of...
well,
never mind.
We assigned Hazel to the task of guard dog,
which comes to her rather naturally.
Speaking of neighbors,
I was thinking of my neighbor who passed away several years ago.
If you are a Firman Roader,
a Clark Schooler,
or a Huskie Higher,
this true story will give you chills.
I begin my marches through the mornings quite early.
I take Penny for a walk and pick up the newspapers
usually as the sun is just rising.
March mornings have a pinkish, frosty cast to them,
so unique to this time of year.
As the sun rises in the east,
it sometimes casts a pinkish glow onto the 6 Mile Cellars barn.
It also sometimes gives a soft glow to the house across the vineyards
which will be forever known as Myra's house.
It's been several colors in my lifetime,
and the new owners re-sided it in white.
This is it tonight in the midst of our Friday evening snow squall.
I've been thinking of Myra a lot in the last few weeks.
She was the Clark School secretary,
and in the later years,
the high school secretary.
She was as unique as her name,
kind
and sweet
and generous.
Myra was a lovely person.
Myra deserved to live a long time
because she had so much love to give.
Instead, a sneaky cancer took her at age 51.
She passed away on my birthday--
not sure how many years ago it has been.
I turned 51 this birthday.
Perhaps that's why Myra has been on my mind so often.
The old farmhouse that was once hers was glowing pink one
morning this week.
I always see it as I head to school..
I remembered Myra
and thought how she would have liked the new color,
and how I would have snapped a photo
and showed her how her house glowed.
I said aloud "I sure do miss your smile, Myra."
I thought about how unfair the world can be,
taking someone so sweet
and leaving so many sour here on earth.
I settled into my day and went to my first period class.
On this day I was working in the first grade classrooms,
providing enrichment lessons to all of the students.
There are almost 175 first graders and I don't know all of them by name.
One little girl smiled as I entered her classroom.
Oh, yeah!!!! You're heeeeere!
First graders show me that kind of love.
Junior high kids....not so much.
I made you a picture!
I took the chunkily colored rainbow and pot of gold
and thanked the student for the lovely piece of art.
I glanced at the name atop the page,
so I could thank her by name.
Why, thank you......Myra.
This is just perfect.
Eloise
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