I remember just yesterday it was the first day in June and I was thinking of my sophomore English teacher and the memorization of “What is so rare as a day in June . . .” She was probably younger than I am now and we thought she was old. Probably very nice- looking in her day, but we didn’t think of that then. I do remember she told a story about cracking a rib when her hand slipped on the side of the bathtub while giving her cocker spaniel a bath. Maybe, that was a big lesson: Stories are the little things of life, described in a way that draw you in as if you were there.
And we are past the longest day of the year, which is actually not my favorite day; my favorites are those three weeks leading up to the longest day. I love having the light around late . . . but not because of Daylight Savings Time late in Indiana. Can’t forget that. Although “that boy” Mitch Daniels decided to annoy the H out of my mother by making us observe it. The Bully.
Mother said she couldn’t die because she had to vote against “that boy” because of this; I didn’t have the heart to tell her I didn’t think he could run again. We sent emails, but “that boy” just sent back a generic email that our email was received via a wet behind the ears staffling – a form letter email. Auuugggghhhh.
She was about 80 when this fast time thing got stirred up again. 80. Her whole life in Indiana. Her parents’ lives on the Indiana-Michigan border. Why, her mother graduated from Lima High School (Howe) in 1900. The Depression, WW II . . . and Governor Daniels couldn’t respond to her. Oh, fie on him. FIE. FIE. FIE.
Of course, I’ve touched this subject before. It’s sort of like a boomerang.
I have a dumpster in my driveway that needs filling so I’d better get busy . . . I guess the “My Man Mitch” sign can go. (Oh, was that the echo of the boomerang?)
