Mainely Write

Stained eyes Eyes strain And we don’t know The creep of sepia Into our world But then He comes And whittles away at The years And tears And shows us what Our eyes could not see Blind to the brilliance Right in front of us All the time And curtains Are parted And the world becomes Clearly defined With millions of twinkling shades Of color Of light That were there All along Though only now Can we see the glory of Stained glass.

(This has taken me FOREVER to write.  I'm still juggling glasses for reading and light.  No one pair works for everything.  BUT my sight in my cataractless eye is coming along just wonderfully.  So if anything is written wrong, let me know.  I just can't go through and try to reread it. Time to go do eyedrops again. The links are just in case you are interested in some of the spots to which I've referred.) We often have the best times when our timing is all wrong. For our anniversary yesterday , we had decided to take the train from Brunswick to Rockland, enjoying the ride in the old time cars, and then walking to The Brass Compass for the Lobster King Club sandwich (which is to die for good and probably one of the best kept secrets of lobster sandwichdom in Maine). We were late getting out of the house, but would make it in time for the 10:00 departure, however my husband discovered that he had no handkerchief, nor tissues, and his nose was running like a fauce

Sometimes I think we're so conservative we're radical.  Happy anniversary to us! Said Quilt to the Potato, "Seams that you have your eye on me!" ```````````````````````````````````````` Our lives could have been written so, so differently, if not for one night long ago: A friend of mine at college had locked herself in her room, threatening to commit suicide.  She finally let me in.  I talked to her for hours in that dark room that night.  No one told me I couldn't counsel in a life or death situation, so I did.  Everything turned out fine.  My dorm mother, who didn't really know me before this, suggested that I apply for a Resident Assistant position that was opening up for the Fall Semester. I did, and I was hired.   That night was a turning point for my friend, but it also changed the course of my life, and that one special guy that I didn't even know yet. In the second week of September, at the beginning of my Junior year in Child Developme

Hope everyone is having a great start to the school year.  It's the first day of school here in our town.  I'm going in town for cookies and tea with another retired teacher friend, so that we can watch the buses leave the schools and take kids home on their first day.  It is still fun to watch the first day excitement.  Oh, the end of the first day in first grade...can't say I miss that!  "How am I getting home?" "It says you are on bus 21." "Which one is that?"  "The same one you came on this morning." "My mom drove me to school today." "Don't worry, we will get you to the right bus." "I think my mom is picking me up." "I don't have a note from her about that." "Oh, yeah, it's in my lunchbox." "No, she's not, the note says today you need to go on whatever bus will get you to your sitter's house..." Sobbing sounds begin - from both the child a