Not That Hungry

Tonight is one of those nights where I'm not really quite sure what to write about so I've turned to my handy little book that was given to me a couple birthdays ago called, "642 Things To Write About". I flipped through the pages and nothing jumped out at me. So I went to the first page and picked the first topic I saw. It was this:

The worst Thanksgiving dish you ever had

So here goes.

I don't remember the EXACT year, I just know that it was between 20-25 years ago.

My grandmother had passed away and my grandfather was seeing this new "woman" who he had decided to marry, so he decided to have the family over for Thanksgiving dinner...prepared by "her".

What I didn't know at the time was that everyone else in the family had already met her. I, somehow, was the only one who hadn't yet.

Well...I met her...and didn't like her. Twenty some odd years later, my dislike for her was completely warranted as she turned out to be a real witch...with a capital B.

Anyhoo...I digress...

It was time for dinner and we all gathered 'round the table and start dishing food onto our plates. I got some turkey and went to pour what I *thought* was gravy. Well...the only thing gravy-ish about it was the fact that it was in a gravy bowl, tureen...whatever that thing is called. But what was swimming around in the bowl was NOT gravy...it was GREASE. Straight GREASE.

I decided to pass on that and instead, just ate my dry turkey DRY.

I'm sure that there was more to the meal that wasn't very palatable but at this moment all that sticks with me is that GREASE.

That was the LAST meal of hers that I've ever eaten, and I think that if I were starving and she offered me food today, I'd just have to go on home to glory. She's a SNAKE and I wouldn't want anything from her...EVER. But again...that's another story for a different day.

Let the DIALOUGUE begin: What's the worst Thanksgiving dish you ever had?

Talk to me!

Til next time...

My "To Do" List

So tonight I'm kinda sleepy...VERY sleepy actually, and my mind is a bit too tired to think of anything to write about. Sooo, I have reverted to my trusty little book, "642 Things To Write About". Thank God for this book and my best friend Judy who gave it to me on my birthday last year.

The topic for today: Write a list of things to do before you die.

So here they are, in no particular order. I will only list seven because, well...if you know anything about me you know that I do most things in multiple of sevens. And now I shall begin.

1. Get married
2. Buy a house
3. Go to Africa
4. Write a book
5. Create a literacy program for inner city youth
6. Sing in a theatrical production
7. Become independently wealthy/financially independent so that I can volunteer and serve others in need EVERYDAY.

There you have 'em...MY seven.

Let the DIALOGUE begin: What seven things do YOU want to do before you die?

Talk to me!

Til next time...

Bacon & Eggs, Peanut Butter & Jelly, Milk & Cookies...

We met in the 4th grade at good ol' Ambler Avenue Elementary. Crazy Ms. Nicholson was our teacher. I call her crazy because she yelled and threw chairs across the room. Yes...all these years later, I still remember that.

I don't know who said hi to who first. Knowing me, it was me. And so began what has become a 36 year friendship.

We attended elementary, middle, and most of high school together until her family moved and she transferred to a different school. She still managed to get her mug in the BHS yearbook though.

Not sure exactly what happened after high school but somewhere along the way we lost touch. :-(

We reconnected at her baby shower a few years later and I'll always remember leaving at the end of the night, giving her a hug as she donned a cow costume. I'm gonna say that she was on her way to a party. Yeah, that's what I'm gonna say. ;-)

She had her baby (a beautiful baby girl), and I remember calling to wish her well. I spoke with her mom who told me that she was resting so I didn't get to speak with her. That was in 1991, and for whatever reason, it was the last connection that either of us had with each other for a very very long time. Not sure what the reason was for the lapse. I'm sure that she was busy with her baby and I was busy with mine, and mine, and mine. I guess that's kinda how life works sometimes.

Then, along came the internet and a website called Classmates.com. I registered. And...she found me! That was in 2005!!!

We made arrangements to meet at Koji's in Orange (thankfully, our friendship has outlasted that restaurant because IT is now CLOSED), and well folks...as they say, "the rest is history". We will NEVER lose contact with each other again...EVER!

She's a bit of a spitfire. Cross her the wrong way, and she'll hurt you. Cross ME the wrong way, and she'll hurt you.

She speaks her mind and will tell you like it is IN A HEARTBEAT. A trait that I admire because I myself, don't have it.

And she ALWAYS has my back!

She's my #1 supporter in everything I do. My biggest cheerleader. My #1 Fan.

Oh, but when I mess up (and there's been plenty of that), she comes at me with her standard line, "Oh D!", gives me her take on the situation, and then keeps on lovin' me.

She's as BEAUTIFUL on the INSIDE as she is on the OUT. And no, I'm not saying that to be cliché. You see her pic here, so yeah...like I said.

We've cried together, laughed together, cried together, and laughed some more.

Interestingly, she inspired today's post and doesn't even realize it. You see, today's post came out of the book that she bought me last year for my birthday, called "642 Things To Write About". I was flipping through the pages today and there was the prompt, "Describe Your Best Friend", so...I did.

Yes folks, I have just described for you all my very BEST friend Judy! An absolute BLESSING, and the truest definition of friend...BEST friend! If she were a dude, I think we'd be married. {insert an "Oh D!!!" here}

My prayer is that we have many many more years together, 'cause there's a whole lotta stuff we still need to do.

Now it's YOUR turn...Let the DIALOGUE begin: PLEASE, describe YOUR best friend.

Talk to me!

Til next time...

One Word

It was a blistering cold December day.

Shoppers were out en masse and sounds of the season could be heard everywhere.

Joel said goodnight to his coworkers and headed to his car in preparation for a hurried trip to the post office. He had to get there before it closed as today was the last day that he could mail his packages so that his 3 year old daughter Adria, and 4 year old son Zavier would receive them in time.

This Christmas was so very special to Joel. It was the first time he’d ever been able to get gifts for them.

As much as he’d always wanted to, being in and out of jobs (mostly out) he just never had the financial means to do so. He was always just a young cat tryn’ta make it. This time was different.

He’d had a steady (legal) job for 6 months now. He was 30 years old and on the right track, finally.

So off he headed to the post office. Dodging in and out of traffic. Hoping that the signals would work in his favor. He HAD to get these gifts mailed. They HAD to arrive on time so that his babies would have “gifts from Daddy” to open on Christmas morning. And so that he wouldn’t have to hear Julia’s mouth telling him that he’s a "no-good father" that their kids could never count on.

True, those words may have accurately described the “old” Joel, but his life had since turned around. He had done a complete 180 from who he used to be.

Even though Joel knew that he and Julia would never be a couple again, he knew that it was still important for her to see him as a good father to their two children.

When Joel and Julia were together things didn’t go too well.

Joel had trust issues as a result of his mother abandoning him when he was 5 years old. She dropped him off at school one day and never picked him up, nor did she ever come home again. His mom was just GONE. Because of that, he was unable to trust Julia (or any other woman he had ever dated). In his mind, they ALL leave eventually. Without word or warning, they ALL simple LEAVE. At least that’s what he thought.

The lack of trust was too much for Julia so in some ironic twist of fate, Joel was actually right…she left. She had to.

Finally, Joel arrived at the post office. Unloaded the wrapped gifts from the car, made his way inside and stepped into the crowded…almost non-moving line. Without thinking, he began humming along to the music being piped in from the speakers…this was his favorite song when he a little boy. Without even realizing it…

***

Colleen checked her watch. She was so relieved that she made it to the post office on time. Ten minutes more and the doors would’ve been closed.

She had to make it so that she could get her granddaughter’s gift in the mail so that it would arrive in time for Christmas. Sure, little Lena was only a year old and was clueless about Christmas and presents, but this was important to Colleen, and to Carina, Lena’s mommy, Colleen’s 24 year old daughter.

Colleen was 26 when she had Carina. As mother and daughter they had a very close bond. As a child Carina often thought her mother to be too “clingy” and a woman of many secrets. Over time she accepted the fact that this was just how her mother was. It was easier that way. Whenever Carina questioned Colleen, a sadness came over Colleen that would sometimes take weeks to fade away. So, Carina stopped asking.

Colleen scooped the gifts out of the car and made her way into the post office, finding a spot at the very end of the line. That was alright. At least she was IN line.

While she waited, she found herself humming along to the tune that was playing through the speakers. The song hit her like a wave. Instantly, so did the sadness.

It was a song that she used to sing to her son when he was a little boy. It was his favorite.

One lone tear rolled down her face.

As the line coiled and she inched her way through she spotted something. As the lone tear trickled down her face the man passing by on her left also in line, had a lone tear trickling down his face.

She almost dropped her boxes.

She wanted to get out of line but couldn’t.

She stood there…frozen.

He hadn’t seen her yet and she was hoping he wouldn’t.

Too late.

His eyes locked right in on hers.

Could it be?

It was.

What should he say?

Should he say anything?

How does one ask 25 years worth of questions while standing in line at the post office?

Joel could only get one word out, “Mom?”

***

Let the DIALOGUE begin! Today's post was in response to the following creative writing prompt: An estranged mother and son who haven't seen or spoken to each other in more than twenty years meet in line at the post office in December, arms full of packages to be mailed. What do they say to each other?

What do YOU think they say to each other?

Talk to me!

Til next time...

Life as a Postcard?!?

Tonight's post is weird. Just weird. I don't get it. But I said that I was gonna give all 642 topics a try, and this just happened to be the one that came up for today. So...here goes. Tonight's task is to "Write a life as a series of postcards." What the?!?

All that I can come up with is, GREETINGS from the Golden State...CALIFORNIA. Wish you were here!

Yep...that's all I got. Hopefully YOU have something better.

Let the DIALOGUE begin! Write a life as a series of postcards.

I'm sure that you'll do better that I did.

Talk to me!

Til next time...

My Voice in Words

For as long as I can remember I have LOVED to write.

As a young girl at the age of 7, I would write stories for my #1 Fan, my best friend...my Grammy. No matter how uninteresting or non-nonsensical the stories were, she would ALWAYS encourage me and tell me to keep writing.

I still remember the day when I walked into her kitchen and there on the table was a typewriter...for me. I was only 7!!!

She gave it to me so that I could type my little heart away writing books.

Well I typed, and typed, and typed some more. To this day I can not tell you what ever happened to that typewriter, and I have yet to finish even ONE book. But that memory remains and so...I've got to get to it.

WHY DO I WRITE?

I write because writing is the only time that my voice is truly heard.

People do not, nor have ever fully listened to me when I speak. There's usually and interjection, or a rebuttal, or just total disinterest altogether. People just don't hear me. And it's not about the volume of my words, it's just me. People don't hear me.

Writing however, has ALWAYS allowed my voice to come over LOUD AND CLEAR. I've written many letters in my day and never once has anyone ever asked, "What did that mean?"

In writing, my thoughts are very clearly conveyed and are delivered without interruption.

So yes, I write to be heard.

I realize that I am not the best writer in terms of style or grammar, I never remember whether or not the punctuation marks go inside or outside of the quotation marks, and frankly...I don't care. I am not perfect and neither is my writing.

I also recognize the fact that I over-use commas. And again, I don't really care. This is me and if I've got to be stressed out over commas and quotation marks then that takes my joy out of writing. I choose to keep the joy.

Oh, and let's not forget the Ellipsis, you know, the...that I use ALL the time. Yep...I'm keepin' that too. I probably use it way more than necessary but when I write I hear the need for it in my head, so I use it...a LOT.

I also write because it's therapeutic (and much cheaper than therapy). When there's no one else to talk to I just pour everything out on paper. Sometimes I tear the paper up the moment the last sentence is completed. Other times I've kept the words for years only to go back and THEN tear them up.

Writing is my outlet.

Some people drink, others do drugs, and who knows what else to relieve the stresses of this life. Me, I write.

This blog (although neglected at times) has been my friend. Always here when I need to purge. Sometimes it's lonely, just me & my blog, because it was intended to be shared with many. A DIALOGUE, but most days feeling like a MONOLOGUE. I won't lie. It's quite disappointing asking folks to support me in my writing efforts and they don't, but I am ever so thankful for the ones who do. It is for YOU that I continue to write as much as it is for myself.

Yes, I AM A WRITER with my OWN style. Afterall, no two people in the world are exactly alike...why should all writers be?

Now it's YOUR turn. Let the DIALOGUE begin: Do you write? If so, why?

Talk to me!

Til next time...

***
This is post #7 inspired by the book "642 Things to Write About" and this will be the LAST time I add this little addendum at the end of the post. Going forward, if you see the post labeled as "642" then you'll know that it was inspired by the book.

What's she doing???

On March 1st of this year I got what's called "The Big Chop." That means that I went to the barber shop, hopped in the chair and told the barber to take it all off. He did.

My hair wasn't even an inch long after the chop. It may have been 1/4 of an inch long, but not much longer than that.

Now we fast forward 4 months.

My hair has grown. It's at least an inch long, probably longer. And it's what I call "kinky-coily". Not really curly, but a cross between kinky and coily.

This texture has caused me to form a bad habit. I am CONSTANTLY uncoiling the kinks. CONSTANTLY. I do this so much I think I may have created a bald patch right smack dab in the middle of my head. That is where my hair is the kinkiest-coiliest. A completely different texture from the rest of my hair. Weird!

The hair at the back and toward the nape of my neck is very soft and more of a coily-curly texture. Toward the front, the hair is like sheep's wool. And that patch in the middle has gone completely back to Africa!

So...I find myself uncoiling the kinks when I'm waiting for a light to change, when I'm at my desk making calls, and when I'm just sittin' at home on the couch chillin'.

It's a bad habit for two reasons. One, because I'm creating that bald patch, and two, because I must look ridiculous to those who catch me doing it.

I do it because it's a stress reliever. When I'm uncoiling my kinks I completely zone out. It's like smoking a cigarette or sippin' on a drink. Just calming.

I imagine I'll stop once I go back to straightening my hair again, which won't be until March 1, 2014. There's a lot of uncoiliing to do between now and then ;-)

Now...Let the DIALOGUE begin: Describe one of your bad habits and why you secretly get joy out of it.

Talk to me

!

Til next time...

***Post# 6 inspired by the book "642 Things to Write About" ***

Esperanza Bridge

***Read all the way through to the end***

"Come ye disconsolate, where’re ye languish your mind..."

Those were the words that Francis heard the choir singing as she stepped inside the doors of the church for what was the 1st time in 30 years.

She wasn’t even sure how she'd ended up there. Life for Francis lately had become a blur. One day blurred right into the next. She hadn’t been living, she’d only been functioning. Not much of an existence there, Francis thought.

And on more than one occasion, she’d thought about giving up on existing altogether. Just didn’t see the point anymore.

The life that Francis was living was far from the life she’d planned.

She’d never been married (not by choice).

She’d never had any children (not by choice either, she was simply waiting for the right order which meant having a husband first).

She lived in a small studio apartment, by herself. Couldn’t even have a pet because the property management company wouldn’t allow it.

She had a job that was just that…a “j-o-b”. Nothing thrilling about it. Nothing lifechanging , neither for herself nor her company’s clients.

She knew that she was created for more and just couldn't find a way to get there.

Life had gotten in the way of Francis’ dreams and goals. Life was suffocating Francis. Life, didn’t seem to be much of a friend. So she decided to end the friendship.

“Who will even miss me when I’m gone? If anyone really cared, they’d be here. Life wasn’t meant to be lived alone and since I’m alone and probably will continue to be, then why bother with living.”

Francis had made the ultimate decision to leave this life that had been so unkind to her. Today was going to be the day.

She stepped out of her front door, felt the heat of the sun against her face and for a brief moment, actually smiled. It was as though the sun was giving her one last hug, knowing that it would never shine on her face again.

She started walking toward the Esparanza Bridge. Not nervous. Not distraught. Focused.

These were the last 8 blocks she would ever walk. No turning back now. She put one foot in front of the other and off she went.

Along the first block she passed by Gionelli's, her favorite restaurant.
Block number two, the elementary school that she had attended as a young girl.
Along block number three was the museum where Francis spent countless hours admiring the lovely oil paintings, sketches, and sculptures.
Block four was where she spent her childhood. The home where her family used to live was on this block.
As soon as she crossed the street to block number five she could smell the freshly cut flowers displayed outside of her favorite flower shop.
Block number six contained the market where she shopped. So convenient and the walk was always a great way to get in some exercise.

And then...block number seven. Just one block away from what would be the last.
As soon as she stepped foot on block number seven, she heard those words resounding from the church. "Come ye disconsolate, where’re ye languish your mind..." It was as if the choir was singing just for her...only TO her.

"Come ye disconsolate, where'er ye languish your mind.
Come to the mercy seat, fervently kneel;
here bring your wounded hearts, here tell your anguish,
earth, oh, has no sorrow that heaven cannot heal..."

At that moment she realized that her journey was over. No, not her life's journey, but the journey to end her life. She stepped inside the church doors and let the words of the song pierce her heart, her "saddened, lonely, been hurt too many times by too many people" heart. What seemed to be an endless stream of tears flowed down her face. And as she sat there in her seat a woman came over, didn't say a word, and just placed her arm around Francis. A loving, caring arm. A gesture that said, "you're not alone. Someone DOES care."

Many times that's the difference between whether someone feels that this life is worth living, or if they decide to give it all up. Most times, someone just needs to know that somebody else CARES.

***
Phew! That was another toughy. My 5th post inspired by the book "642 Things to Write About" Another creative challenge that I had to take head on. The instructions were: Put you iPod on random shuffle, write down the lyric of the first song that comes on, and use it as an opening line.

Let the DIALOGUE begin: How'd I do? Did you think Francis wasn't gonna make it? How 'bout YOU give it a try and let me know what you come up with for the first song that comes up in YOUR shuffle.

Talk to me!

Til next time.

What just happened?

How 'bout that. Something just happened and you missed it.
Hey, something else just happened and you missed it again.

Yes, in the second between that first and last sentence something happened. What exactly? I couldn't tell you. What I will do is answer today's topic from "642 Things to Write About" which is: What can happen in a second

I'm a person who likes to do things in 7s, so I will list 7 things that can happen in a second.

1. Blink our eyes
2. Win or lose a close race
3. An accident

4. Power outage
5. Death
6. Make a decision
7. This is my FAVORITE. We can be "raptured", "caught up" whatever you wanna call it...to meet Jesus when He comes back for His believers. THAT will be the BEST second of my LIFE!

Now it's YOUR turn. Let the DIALOGUE begin: You don't have to list 7, but how 'bout you list 1. What can happen in a second?

Talk to me!

Til next time...

Creatively Challenged

It was a smoldering 98 degrees in Beauteria. Too hot to stay inside without A/C and too hot to be outside unless you were in the water.

Le-A (pronounced Le-dash-uh) decided to venture out and take a dip in Lake Noentres.

She put on her swim gear and headed out into the blazing heat. So hot that it almost blew her right back inside. Almost.

She hopped in her car, cranked up the tunes and made her way to Lake Noentres.

When she arrived she was oddly surprised to find that on such a scorching hot day as this, there was no one else at the lake.

“Sweet! I’ve got the place all to myself.”

She started toward the water and once she got there realized that she had her glasses on. She didn’t want to get in with them for fear that they may slip off of her face. Her glasses were her eyes. Without ‘em, she couldn’t see a thing. And because of a medical eye condition, she couldn’t wear contacts. Just one of life’s little inconveniences.

Since she was the only one there she thought it was safe enough to leave the glasses on a nearby tree branch. Close enough that she didn’t have to go all the way back to the car, and far enough away from the water.

So she left the glasses and very cautiously headed back toward the water.

She stuck her toe in, then a foot, and before she knew it she was up to her neck in water. So refreshing on such a blistering hot day. Coming to Lake Noentres was definitely a good choice. Or was it?

Time passed, and then some more. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been out in the water. And then…she heard something. She looked around and couldn’t make out a dog-gon thing. Her glasses were on that branch that now seemed miles away.

She heard another noise. This one louder than the first, and closer.

She squinted, trying her best to make out whatever it was.

Was it a dog? She couldn't tell. Seemed bigger than a dog though.
An alligator?
Not likely. This is Beauteria. Not many alligators roaming around there.
A bear?
Could've been. Seemed tall enough.

Panic began to settle in. Maybe this wasn’t the best choice after all.

Noises got louder and NOW there was something IN the water with her. Le-A started freaking out. Splashing frantically trying to get away. But from what? Whatever it was, splashed even louder, and was coming closer. The ominous figure was halfway between the water’s edge and where she was in the water. It was coming right at her!

Le-A was beginning to realize why nobody else was at the lake. It wasn’t safe. Apparently everybody else knew this. She obviously didn’t get the memo.

Without her glasses she couldn't make out which way to go or what to do. She was stuck. And it (whatever "it" was) was quickly approaching.

She decided that her only chance of escape would be to go UNDER the water, out of sight of whatever was coming toward her. And then what?

Where would she go if she couldn't see in front of her?

She had to try.

Le-A took a deep breath and just as she was about to go under, she heard a familiar voice calling out to her. That voice belonged to Lamar, her next door neighbor.

"Woman, what are you doin' out here all by yourself? You know that's not safe! What if somethin' happened to you? And what are you doin' out here without your glasses on? Leavin' em in a tree for who knows what to get. You know you can't see without your glasses. Follow me and let's get outta here. It's hot!"

***

Okay. So that was my 3rd post inspired by the book "642 Things to Write About". Really LOVING this book! Today's topic was: Your character is swimming in a lake, not wearing her glasses. She squints at a shape coming toward her in the water. What does she think she sees?

This was challenging for me because I typically write from experiences or opinion, not creatively. This forced be creative and I'm glad that I took it on.

Now Let the DIALOGUE begin: How did I do? Was it suspenseful? Were you hoping that she'd get eaten up by something?

Talk to me!

Til next time.

And the Winner is...

The year was 1980. The month was May. The day, a Friday afternoon.

As we were being dismissed from school I asked my friend Monique what she was doing for the weekend. She told me that she was going to see a movie.

“Which one?”, I asked.

“Fang.”

“Fang? I’ve never heard of that. Is it scary?”

“Not Fang. FAME. It’s about some kids who sing and dance at a school."

“Ohh. That sounds GOOD.”

***

I was eleven years old and had no idea then that I had just been introduced to the film that would become my favorite.

I don’t remember who took me to see it. It was rated "R" so somebody must’ve, unless I snuck in. Knowing me...I didn’t sneak in.

Watching Fame was like seeing MYSELF on screen. I WAS COCO! Just a girl wanting to share her talents with the world. Yes! She was me…I was her.
Even at the age of eleven I wanted to be a star. I sang in high school and loved every performance. I was the soloist at my high school graduation and was this close to going to Berklee College of Music. Yes folks, I wanted to be a star. Thirty four years later, I still do. Not so much now in the sense of performing on stage, but in the sense that I want to leave my mark on the world.

Although Coco was my favorite character, Leroy Johnson and Ms. Lydia Grant ranked pretty high as well.

I loved the way that Leroy was introduced to us.
He was just at the audition to be the dance partner for his friend who was the actual auditionee. Once Leroy got movin’ though, he danced circles around his friend. Totally outshined her. In the words of Ms. Lydia Grant, he was “wicked” (or at least his dancing was). And in his own words, “ I's young, I's single, and I loves to mingle! .” Yes sir, I loved me some Leroy!

As for Ms. Grant, she was a “no nonsense” kind of teacher who pushed until she got the very best out of her students. She made it plain, “ You've got big dreams. You want fame. Well, fame costs. And right here is where you start paying: in sweat.”

I feel like I’ve been sweating all my life. Not so much physically, but in many other ways. Yes, my dreams are big and I deposit a little more into them each day. One day all of this sweat will pay off. I have to keep believing that otherise I'll quit, and quitting is simply NOT an option.

Now for anyone who knows me AT ALL, this next part will come as no surprise. I LOVED the singing in Fame. I’m sure that if you asked, I could belt out any of the tunes, but my top 3 favorite songs are:

Out Here on My Own

Hot Lunch Jam

and

I Sing The Body Electric

When those three come on…watch out, ‘cause it’s ON!

So there you have it. Fame. My favorite film.

What I find most interesting is that Fame is technically a musical, and I typically hate watching musicals on screen. Moulin Rouge…didn’t like it. Chicago…didn’t like it. Les Miserable…won’t even see it on film because I already know…I won’t like it. I enjoy musicals best when performed LIVE on stage. Somehow, Fame is my only exception. I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve seen it. There've been too many to count. What I can tell you is that anytime it comes on TV, I watch. And I love it, EVERY time.

"Sometimes I wonder where I've been
Who I am
Do I fit in.
Make believin' is hard alone,
Out here on my own

We're always provin' who we are
Always reachin' for the risin' star
To guide me far
And shine me home
Out here on my own..."

Now, Let the DIALOGUE begin: What is YOUR favorite film?

Talk to me!

Til next time...

x+y=?

Today's post is the first of 642 posts that I'll be sharing here in The Dialogue Den. All will be inspired by the FABULOUS book I received yesterday from my BFF Judy. The book is titled, "642 Things To Write About". Enjoy!
***

Write down everything you can remember about your algebra teacher

Mr. Yamaguchi.

I’d like to say that his first name was Ken, but I’m not 100% sure. The last name though, I know that’s correct. He was my algebra teacher at Banning High. A very kind and patient man. Slender and about 50 years old.

Algebra was my 1st period class and I was habitually tardy. I rode the city bus to school so if I missed the bus, or if it was too full and passed me up, I’d be late. Eventually I would arrive and rush upstairs to his class. I sat in the 2nd row from the door, last seat in the back. As soon as I’d sit down he would greet me with, “You’re late.” I couldn't even respond. I would simply scramble to find out what page we were on and try to catch up.

I’ve always struggled with math and really enjoyed him as a teacher because he would go over a problem as many times as needed until we “got it.”
He really loved math. It not only showed in the fact that he was so patient, but also in the fact that his son chose to follow in his footsteps and became a math teacher at the same high school.

Mr. Yamaguchi.

That’s all I remember but considering the fact that this memory is over two decades old, I’d say I did pretty well.

Now it’s YOUR turn.

Let the DIALOGUE begin: Write down everything YOU can remember about your algebra teacher.

Talk to me!

Til next time…