Saturday was lovely, so I headed to the T-Bone trail where I ran six slow miles and greeted my nameless friends. We see each other regularly, shout "Nice day!" as we pass.
I am always happy to see these trail regulars. Dan asks, "Did you see anyone on the trail?" and I say, "Yes! My friend with the German shepherd and Boston terrier!"
She has no name, but we are friends now.
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Saturday I also saw a well-bundled woman who said "Allison?"
It was Maxine, the mother of Stacy, a 9th-grader in my first year of teaching who went on to become the West Des Moines Valley High School drama teacher, garnering countless accolades for her fabulous teaching as well as award-winning speech and drama productions.
That alone would make Maxine dear to my heart. But her in-laws were Gladys and Howard, the loving "grandparents" who cared for my little ones when I was teaching as a young mom.
Gladys and Howard lived across the section from us. They were retired from farming; Gladys had worked at the I-80 Exit 57 Stucky's, known for its pecan rolls.
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When I hear about young families' difficulty in finding reliable, loving, affordable childcare, I almost feel guilty for the soft nest of love and kindness I plunked my chicks into each morning when I headed off to teach.
Gladys and Howard greeted my children with breakfasts of warm oatmeal. They took them into the farmyard to feed the chickens. They sang to them, rocking on the front porch swing.
In other words, Gladys and Howard gave my little ones days padded with gentle love. They were "the village" that helped raise my children while I encircled others' children in "the village" of high school.
It doesn't take a village. It takes villages.
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Yesterday on the trail, Maxine said she had seen photos of Wolf on Facebook.
"Gladys would have loved those pictures," she said. "Wolf looks just like Maxwell."
Enough.
Be well.
Write.
Allison
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| Wolf |
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| Maxwell |
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