Blog – Page 209 – All It Takes Is A Little Love

Dream Vacation

Published on July 4, 2016June 30, 2016 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

Amboy, Kalifornien, USA, Hist. Route 66 By this time tomorrow Mike and I will begin a twenty one day junket to California in our travel trailer along with two of our grandchildren. We are either excitingly adventurous or stunningly crazy. The potential for problems when pulling a tiny home thousands of miles behind a truck in abnormally hot weather is high. We’ve already experienced a number of unexpected kinks in our plans on short hops in the past. We’ve practiced our camping skills time and again. We have overcome violent thunderstorms, excruciatingly long roadwork delays, appliances that failed to work properly, attacks by tiny insects and a host of other difficulties that shall remain unspoken. Now comes the greatest test of all. We will either demonstrate our mettle or fail miserably.

Mike and I both have ancestors who braved the unknown to travel to a new world. The earliest among his arrived on the Mayflower. Mine were latecomers to Jamestown. Over decades and then centuries our family trees grew more and more complex and the branches took our people from Massachusetts to Nebraska, Virginia to Texas. The hardy souls who were our third, fourth and fifth great grandparents sailed across oceans in cramped quarters that make our trailer seem like a grand palace. They pulled wagons into dense forests and over mountainous roads. They lived without electricity or running water and somehow survived. They learned how to adapt to the environment and willed themselves to overcome hardship and disease. I suspect that we still bear some of their traits and thus will be just fine in our full hookup campsites with wifi, swimming pools, laundries and grocery stores.

Our plan is to pick up our youngest grandson William in San Antonio tomorrow along with his sister Abigail. Our first stop will be at South Llano River State Park for a good night’s rest before navigating through west Texas to Carlsbad Caverns. We plan to spend an entire day inside the magnificent cave that is truly one of the world’s wonders. From there our journey will take us to Santa Fe. In a stroke of luck we will be in that cultural mecca during the International Art Festival that occurs only once a year. We hope to venture to the Anasazi ruins of Chaco Canyon while we are nearby area as well. After three days and nights we will continue moving west to Sedona, a place that is reputed to be so beautiful that we may be tempted to forego the rest of our trip so that we might enjoy the scenery and the welcoming environment for a longer time than one evening. If our timing is perfect we may even go north for the afternoon to catch the sunset over the Grand Canyon, a sight that we have already experienced but which can never be seen too often. Continuing on we will spend a night in Needles, California within striking distance of our ultimate goal, Los Angeles. For the next seven days we will enjoy the multitude of scenery and entertainment in both LA and San Diego. The return trip will take us rather quickly down I-10 through Arizona and New Mexico until we reach Fort Davis where we will tarry for a time before returning to South Llano River in Junction and then back to San Antonio to drop off the kids before returning home. It will either be a dream vacation or a horrible nightmare. It all depends on the vagaries of nature and the unexpected behaviors of our fellow human beings, not to mention the multitude of possible problems that may occur with our mechanical equipment.

I laugh when I think of how soft we modern souls have become compared to our forefathers. On this day I often think of them and the incredible sacrifices that they made in the hopes of improving their lives. Passage across the ocean involved traveling thousands of miles with only scant knowledge of what lay ahead. It meant never seeing family and friends again. Every moment of every day was fraught with problems and no luxuries as we think of them today. Even the old homestead of my great grandparents spoke of the hardship and depravation that was their reality only one hundred years ago. We have advanced to an extent that truly boggles the mind. The pioneers who stretched out across this continent so long ago would be stunned to see us going from Texas to California and back in only twenty one days. They would think it amazing to learn that we can watch movies inside our “iron buggies” as we move rapidly down a concrete road and that we are rarely far from conveniences that they never considered even in their dreams.

The first colonists in the United States of America came to a rugged and dangerous land. So many of them died before they even took their steps off of the ships that brought them. Some grew and prospered and others merely subsisted. After two hundred years generations of people had lived here under the auspices of a king and a country that they had never seen. Being ruled from afar by a government that little understood their unique situations became untenable and they rebelled. Theirs was a revolution against one of the most powerful countries in the world and on July 4, 1776 they brashly declared their independence and intent to form a new kind of government. It was a moment that was viewed with skepticism in the halls of power around the world and yet somehow almost two hundred fifty years later our nation stretches from sea to sea across a continent that still seems to be working out the kinks of determining its identity.

We were guided by humans to this very moment in history when all the world looks to us either with profound admiration or seething hate. We understand our flaws and continue to strive to correct them. We are desirous of being a kind nation but wary of being too soft. We struggle to strike a balance between love of country and understanding of our role in a global community. The old questions and disagreements that plagued our founders stalk us even today. Still we are remarkable and I suspect that our ancestors would be quite proud of our accomplishments. They would no doubt caution us to proceed into the future with an eye to preserving the foundations upon which this nation was built while adapting to the realities of a time that they might never have imagined.

Somehow it seems fitting that Mike and I will be taking our grandchildren to see the wonders of this glorious country of ours during the month that sparked our independence. Wish us godspeed as we travel and help us to find McDonald’s for our breakfast, Walmart for our provisions and Starbucks to quench our thirst and keep us alert. We are venturing into a modern day version of the wild. Let us hope that when we think of our trip in the years to come we will remember it as our dream vacation.

Stay Just As You Are

Published on July 1, 2016June 29, 2016 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

diversity I remember a time when working for IBM meant that one would wear a pin stripe suit, white button down shirt, tie, and wing tip shoes. The world of computing has certainly changed. Now the dress code at most tech companies is generally quite casual, if there is one at all. In the twenty first century we have moved farther and farther away from conformity. The trend today is to be who you really are, not some preconceived notion of what is normal. Most of us have come to realize that the uniqueness of each human being is preferable to sameness and yet it can still be difficult for some among us to admit to how they truly wish to live without being abused by those who refuse to understand.

Human history has been filled with taboos as well as great freedoms. The Greek men who participated in the first Olympic games did so in the nude. The people who lived then believed the male body was quite beautiful and something to celebrate rather than hide. The spectators thought nothing of seeing their favorite champions perform feats of athletic prowess without benefit of clothing. It was simply the way things were. Somewhere through the centuries we became a bit more prudish and such a public display of the human form is not likely to occur again in a sporting venue for a very long time.

As people we developed mores and customs in an attempt to moderate behavior, many of which were derived from religious beliefs. While there are certain universal ideas such as a banning murder, the rules for mankind have often been far different from the way things are today. There have been societies ruled totally by women and those in which slavery was considered the norm. We have slowly but surely moved toward a world in which more and more people have the right to free expression with few limits. We claim to value life as something special and precious and yet there are still those who want to dictate how others should look and act and even feel.

I am a huge fan of Game of Thrones. My favorite character is Tyrion Lannister, a most unlikely hero, but a hero nonetheless. As portrayed by the Emmy winning actor Peter Dinklage, Tyrion is a dwarf whose father hated him because of his misshapen body and the fact that his birth resulted in the death of his mother. Through dent of intellect Tyrion walks tall and proudly among his supporters and enemies alike. Tyrion is so much more than just an amusing soul. He has the heart of a lion and somehow manages to evoke feelings that he is the best of his fair haired family members. He proves again and again that it is not in our appearance that we are ultimately judged but in the way that we approach the challenges of life. We cheer for him because he has learned how to live with the hand that was dealt him and he does so with panache.

When I was a child I had a neighbor who was confined to a wheelchair and spent hours inside an iron lung. I never knew exactly what disease had sidelined her so badly and I visited her because she rarely left home. She was barely able to hold up her head and when she talked she was difficult to understand. When I was with her I sometimes felt ever so slightly uncomfortable much as children sometimes do in such situations. One day I was stunned when she asked if I wanted to hear her play the piano. I nodded my assent but wondered how she would be able to make music given that she was unable to use either her hands or her feet. I watched in amazement as her mother placed a stylus in the girl’s mouth with which she struck the keys so rapidly that they made lovely sounds. I would not have been able to replicate the notes with my ten fingers. I was impressed by her skill and the determination that it must have taken to learn how to play with only a stick and the quick movements of her head. Somehow after her demonstration I saw her in a whole new light. She was not someone to pity. She was a warrior who had soared above a hideous disease. I admired her courage and realized just how strong she was.

Our society still bombards us with images of acceptable beauty. There seems to be little room for someone whose features are imperfect or whose body is too large or too small. The reality is that those considered to be the most gorgeous are often simply blessed by a combination of genes that give them an aura of near perfection. They have generally done nothing to earn the praise that they so often receive. So many people suffer because of defects over which they have no control. We still have cruel people in our midst who ridicule them and purposely inflict pain on them. What those of us who are beyond the superficial understand is that the most exquisite beauty lies inside the soul. Eleanor Roosevelt was one of the loveliest women who ever lived but she was made to feel inferior by members of her own family who worried that she was too unattractive to ever catch and keep a man. They failed to see that she was a stunning soul whose selfless goodness made her more incredible that the most physically attractive movie star.

We try to teach our young to be strong and brave and to follow their own hearts. We tell them that appearances don’t matter. We remind them that they should be in charge of the course of their lives. Sadly there are individuals who will bully and ridicule them if they diverge from what some see as the norm. They have to overcome not just their own shaky confidence but learn how to bear the slings and arrows of a segment of society that may unwilling to accept them just as they are.

Some of the greatest indignities and hurts that I have seen have been inflicted on people based solely on the color of their skin, their religion, their ethnicity or their sexual orientation. It angers and stuns me that we still have such prejudices alive and well in the twentieth century. I cannot imagine the level of self righteousness that it must take to be so judgmental. I have yet to find a perfect person and I suggest that we each be wary of throwing stones.

Fortunately most people are slowly but surely changing and becoming more and more accepting. I’d joyfully celebrate the day when we never again notice the various shades of our skin, the scars on our bodies or the different ways we choose to love. When we strip away all of the superficialities we all breathe the same air and have similar blood running through our veins. We are made of bone and muscle and cells that do little more than house our minds and our hearts and allow us to interact with one another. It’s time for each of us to stay just the way we are and to learn how to love without restrictions. I think we can do it if only we begin to try.

A Season of Bounty

Published on June 30, 2016June 29, 2016 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

Swinging-Bridge-at-Caddo-Gap-1 I was six years old in the summer of 1956. It was a very good time in my life. Our family lived in a beautiful home within walking distance of my school. My best friend, Lynda, lived right across the street and from the time that we awoke each morning we rode our bicycles and played in the woods at the edges of our neighborhood. That summer my family traveled to Arkansas to visit my grandparents’ farm. It was a season of plenty in which all of my childhood dreams were beautiful. I had little idea that storms were brewing for me and that life was already difficult for others that I did not know. I reveled in the gloriousness of that time while ignoring the signs that something was not quite right.

Life with my grandparents was deliciously fun. We helped my grandfather milk his cow each morning and I vividly remember how velvety the warm milk looked as it filled the tin bucket with a foamy white mixture. I recall the feel of the cow’s utter and my amazement that my brother’s favorite drink didn’t actually come from the glass bottles that the milkman delivered to our doorstep each week. I can still smell the sweetness of the hay in the barn and hear the chickens raising a ruckus in their pen as the rooster strutted from hen to hen crowing for attention. How I loved being part of that scene and watching my grandpa’s strong hands do his work while he puffed on a pipe that hung from his lips and sent a lovely aroma into the air.

My grandmother took us on tours of her gardens and into the hills on their property wearing overalls, rubber boots, a long sleeved shirt and a huge wide brimmed hat. I thought it strange that she covered her skin in ninety degree weather but back then I did not yet know about skin cancer or the fact that her folk knowledge was so wise. She taught me and my brothers about the birds that we saw along our trek and instructed us on the kind of rocks that were strewn along our path. She demonstrated how to pick berries while checking for the presence snakes and showed us the proper way to drink the cooling waters from the creek. We learned about the land and how to protect it for future generations.

My brothers and I picked peaches alongside my grandparents, ignoring their warnings that we should protect ourselves with clothing that covered our arms and legs. We soon enough learned why our shorts and sandals were insufficient protection from the furry texture of the fruit that made our limbs itch as though we had been attacked by a thousand mosquitoes. At night we caught fireflies in jars with holes in the lids that Grandma had prepared. Our glass containers became nature’s flashlights until we freed the insects at the end of our play. Our grandmother created butterfly nets out of coat hangers and cloth. She taught us how to surprise the lovely winged creatures and catch them so that we might better observe them. Always she insisted that we let them fly free once we had watched them for a few minutes.

Grandpa took us into town to check his mail each day. We rode on the leather seats of his Plymouth which smelled of his tobacco and soap. He always wore a clean white shirt, polished black boots, suspenders and a big straw hat. He visited with his neighbors at the post office and bragged about us as grandfathers have been doing for generations. If we were especially good he took us to the grocery store and bought us each a cold soda that we selected from a big metal box filled with chunks of ice. I always noticed how much the townspeople respected him and I felt so proud and happy with him.

I had little idea back then how much the world was already changing. I overheard the discussions between my father and grandfather as they wondered what the governor of Arkansas was going to do about the order to integrate the schools in the coming fall. I didn’t totally understand what they were saying but their serious demeanors told me that it was something important. I didn’t know then that my family would soon embark on a nomadic adventure that would take us to California and back or that my father would be dead in less than a year. I had little warning that I would begin to see things happening in our country that somehow felt wrong even to my innocent and childish mind. On those hot summer days in Arkansas I saw only the bounty of the season. I felt as though I had landed in a kind of paradise.

All hell would break lose in the coming months when Governor Faubus would vow to never allow black children to integrate the Arkansas schools. My father would announce that we were moving to San Jose, California and I would grudgingly leave my extended family and my friends. I would watch as civil unrest took hold across the country and I would observe racism with naive confusion. I began to formulate a belief system that was far more generous than that of most of the adults that I observed. For the first time in my life I began to question their behavior as I realized that the bounty that I enjoyed was not shared equally by everyone. I was pushed by events into an early onset of maturity that felt uncomfortable and challenged the status quo.

Sixty years later I look back on that summer with mixed emotions. It was a joyful time that somehow masked the realities that were looming all around me. In a year I would feel like a different person but my lovely memories of that time with my grandparents would keep the light of optimism alive inside my soul. I would forever love the simplicity and honesty of nature while understanding the complex nature of human beings. I would see that I had been blessed by the random act of my birth. But for luck I might have been one of those nine students who had to endure violence just to go to school in Little Rock, Arkansas. I would watch as death, wars, assassinations and violence served as a backdrop for the years of my coming of age. I would witness the contradictions and hardships of the human experience always understanding how many blessings invariably came my way.

I still remember that wonderful summer of 1956 and cherish my recollections with all of my heart. I would ultimately find my way after the death of my father and learn how to find the bounty of even the most difficult seasons of my life. I had realized in that time just how soothing Mother nature may be. I had realized the depth of my grandparents’ love for me. I understood that I have always been part of something much bigger than myself and that I have never really been alone in my struggles. I found strength before I even knew that I possessed it. That summer would serve me well to this very day. I would find the bounty in life again and again and work to extend it to those who had not always shared it with me. Life has been good.

To Infinity and Beyond

Published on June 29, 2016 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

Alan and Sean13413120_10210403732116445_9006089120690796231_n Everyone who knows me well realizes that I have always loved young people. When Mike and I moved from our home of over thirty years several of my friends suggested that we might enjoy being in a senior living community. I quickly squelched that idea because I knew that I would miss the sounds of children playing. We chose a house in a neighborhood where there are mostly young families and that is the way I prefer it to be. The most pleasant part of my day is watching the kids boarding the buses for school and then returning safely in the afternoon. I like that I can hear the joyful noises of the children next door as they play in their swimming pool. The most difficult aspect of retirement has been the loss of the glorious hordes of students who populated my life for so many years.

Of course I have my grandchildren to satisfy my need for youthfulness but they are often quite busy, which is as it should be. Tutoring is almost a selfish hobby for me. It allows me to stay young and keeps my mind vibrant. Mostly it provides me with an opportunity to be around the young people who keep my optimism soaring. Our hope and our future is always to be found in them. They see the world through different lenses than ours. It is important that we pay attention to what they have to say because what they are thinking will ultimately shape the course of history. Thankfully I have been quite blessed to know many hundreds of youngsters who are already assuming the reigns of leadership and it soothes my heart to know that we are in such good hands.

Every grandmother believes that her grandchildren are the most special angels on the planet. I am fortunate enough to have proof that my assessment of them is absolutely true. All seven of them are eagerly embracing life’s challenges and striving to be their personal best. Most importantly they are truly good people. They are reflective souls intent on doing what is right and just. I have to give their parents credit for guiding them in the right direction but I am unabashedly proud that they are of my flesh and blood.

There are other special children in my life and chief among them are Alan and Sean, two young men who are the grandsons of my dear friend, Pat. It still saddens my heart that Pat died before her sweet boys ever had a chance to really know her. They would have loved her so, just as those of us who were her friends did. I have had several wonderful opportunities to spend quality time with Alan and Sean and I treasure those moments as much as I would if they were my very own grandchildren. As an added bonus Sean is my godson and it is a special treat to be his godmother.

Four years ago I first began writing this blog during a time when I was watching Alan and Sean while their parents traveled to Germany. They were already delightfully well behaved young gentlemen so my task was quite easy. I wrote while they were in school and the three of us played when they returned home. I delighted in their joyfulness and the profoundness of their intellect. Alan being the eldest is the more serious of the two. Sean is a little sprite whose laughter and impishness is contagious. The week that I spent with them galvanized my love for them and I have enjoyed watching them grow like weeds and find their individual voices.

Alan, like my twin grandchildren Ian and Abby, will be a seventh grader in the fall. He has already grown taller than I am. His deep voice signals that he is becoming a man. He is a thinker and a bit more cautious than his brother. He is mostly quiet but when he speaks there is so much wisdom in his words that it boggles the mind. He has a sharp wit and a photographic memory. He loves history and has the ability to cite people and events to support his ideas.

Sean is close in age to my youngest grandson William. He will be in the fifth grade in the coming school year. He bears a continual smile on his face and seems to be filled with boundless energy just as his grandmother always was. He enjoys a good joke and laughter is his constant companion. People appear to be naturally drawn to him and he to them. He somehow manages to make every occasion just a bit more fun.

I was blessed recently when Alan and Sean’s mother asked me to be their chaperone while she attended a conference in Boston. For four days I romped around that glorious city with them and enjoyed some wonderful conversations, all while having so much fun. There is an adult way of touring and another that sees things through the innocence of childhood. I learned that Alan is leaning more and more toward a passage into maturity while Sean is still one hundred percent little boy. I enjoyed my time with both of them and it was wonderful to realize that they, like my own grandchildren, are already well on their way to being outstanding keepers of the flame of integrity and wisdom.

Sean and I shared a touching moment while we were waiting for the Red Sox game to begin at Fenway Park. Alan and his mother had left us in our seats as they searched for food for our dinner. As the two of us sat admiring the stadium and the gloriously beautiful evening I remarked that my mother loved baseball so much that she watched an Astros game on the very day that she died. Sean whose birthday is only one day later than my mom’s smiled and asked how I thought my mother might enjoy being with us. Of course I knew that she would have been thrilled as long as she didn’t have to root against her beloved Astros. Sean then asked me with all earnestness if I thought that my mom’s spirit was with us. I told him that not only did I think that she was there but that his own grandmother was smiling on us as well. I felt that they were both happy that we were having so much fun. He grinned and there was a knowing look in his eyes. For a second I was torn between laughing and crying. I chose joy because it was truly a grand night and I believed that our departed angels wanted us to celebrate life. A bit later a photographer took our picture and froze our wonderful memory into a precious keepsake that I will value for all time.

It would be easy to fall into a pit of cynicism and despair given the tenor of the world today but the children that I meet teach me time and again to be ever hopeful. As long as we have all of those glorious young people showing us how to remain optimistic we don’t have to worry about making any place great again, it already is. Our young remind me over and over to choose life and love and laughter over bleakness. They are our ultimate salvation. It is in them that our ideals live on and take us to infinity and beyond.

It’s About Time

Published on June 28, 2016June 27, 2016 by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

Glenda Jones13516264_10209578242793605_5124992074342233422_n Back in the eighties my eldest daughter, Maryellen, was a member of the Janette Dance team at South Houston High School. She had taken ballet and tap lessons from the time that she was five years old, first at a church in Pasadena and later from Patty Owens near our home in southeast Houston. Our family budget often tended to be stressed beyond our means but we somehow managed to find the funds for the classes that she loved so very much. Over time it became apparent that she had a natural talent for dance, most likely inherited from my mother who had her own reputation for being light on her feet and as graceful as a swan. When Maryellen earned a coveted spot on her school’s dance team it seemed to be a reward for all of her hard work and determination. Our family time began to revolve around practices, performances at football games, cotillions, competitions, camps and shows.

I was a fairly young mom, only in my late thirties, when I joined forces with other mothers in providing costumes, decorations, food and other kinds of support for our beautiful young girls. We were all caught up in the joys of our children’s teenage years. We ladies often met to build sets or design programs. We became expert seamstresses who made intricate pieces of clothing. I still recall almost tearing my hair out while sewing the game day suit that Maryellen had to wear on Fridays during football season. It was a complex project but well worth the effort in the end. I recall volunteering to work long hours in those days and at those times I got to know the other moms who were as lovingly devoted to their children as I was to mine. There were dance competitions that demanded whole days of our time and summer camps that required long drives and funds that we might have used otherwise. We sometimes joined in the fun by performing in hilarious dance routines that made us the laughing stock of the audience but also demonstrated just what good sports we were. Those were some of the best times of my entire life and the memories of those days remain precious even today.

Maryellen advanced through the ranks of the team to become one of the military officers, a Lieutenant. She worked hard to meet all of the requirements of the honor, including choreographing original dances and designing costumes and props. Because she so loved the experience, so did I. Those were the wonder years in which her confidence and abilities grew under the watchful eye of her always committed instructor, Glenda Jones Bludworth, a loving woman who taught her dancers how to present themselves with grace in any situation. She was more than just a teacher. She became a friend, mentor and counselor to each of her students. Because we parents witnessed her devotion to our children, we loved her as much as our girls did.

As is usually the case with good times, they flew by all too quickly. Soon Maryellen was attending the University of Texas and focusing on more serious academic goals. She had little time for dancing as she studied constantly to earn the grades that would allow her to be accepted into the McCombs School of Business. The days of visiting Southern Imports in search of fabrics, feathers and sequins were gone. The worn section of carpet in our den where Maryellen had practiced all of her dance routines was the only reminder of those lovely days. I lost track of the women with whom I had spent so many hours. Time raced by and I too turned my attention to new challenges and adventures, forgetting for a moment the joys of being a dance mom.

It has been almost thirty years since Maryellen donned her leotards and dancing shoes. In the interim she earned degrees in Finance and Accounting, worked, married and became mom to four boys who find the stories of her days on the stage to be strangely confusing. Now she is the one who spends almost every free moment supporting her sons’ hobbies and talents. She is the one who now juggles the family budget to find all of the funding for equipment, camps, classes, trips and college so that her boys will be able to enjoy their youth as much as she did hers. Like I once did, she has a circle of friends whose commonality is based on swimming, scouts, theater and school activities. She keeps books for the teams and creates end of season slideshows. Her world is hectic but wonderful. She rarely thinks back to those days when she was an extraordinary dancer who riveted the attention of her many admirers. The memories seem to be both long ago and just like yesterday.

A group of Janette Dancers recently decided to host a kind of reunion of the classes who had been members of the team under the direction of their beloved Glenda Jones Bludworth. The “girls” are now in their forties and some are even knocking on the door of the fifties. Like Maryellen they have children in college, high school and middle school. They have enjoyed marriages and careers and evolved to a time in their lives when they more closely resemble their mothers and me were back in the day. They are beautiful women who learned their teacher’s lessons well and carry themselves with the poise and self respect that she instilled in them.

Happily they did not fail to remember their mothers in planning this event. We were invited to celebrate the life of Glenda Jones Bludworth along with them. I enjoyed sitting at a table with ladies who had been my constant companions so many years before. We bragged on the successes of our daughters and exchanged photos of our grandchildren. We recalled our own sacrifices of money and time and how we would not have changed a thing. We laughed at some of the silly things that we did and grew saddened as we remembered ladies who had been part of our mother brigade who are no longer alive. Mostly we each had remarkable stories of the wonderful influence that Glenda had on our children. We all agreed that she was one of those once in a lifetime educators who goes well beyond the requirements of her job. She reached into the very hearts and souls of her girls and helped them to find the strengths and talents that defined them as unique and outstanding individuals.

It was grand to once again be reminded of a time in life that was so happy for all of us. I found myself amazed that our time together had been so long ago and yet seemed so near and dear. I was particularly happy that all of the delightful young women whom I had watched grow in wisdom and age and grace had remembered and appreciated their amazing teacher. She had so truly earned the attention and praise that they heaped on her. All too often we become so busy with the demands of daily existence that we forget to show our gratitude to the people who did so much to make us who we are. We let the clock tick and tick until it is too late and our hearts are filled with regret that we never took the opportunity to voice the thanks that we always meant to convey. Somehow Glenda’s Girls understood that they needed to stop the passage of time for a few hours so that they might demonstrate how truly important their moment with her had been. It’s about time!