It's been too long since I've put fingers to keyboard to post on this blog, but not because it hasn't been on my mind. My muse has been missing. It still is. That's the only excuse I can offer.
The world did not end on Saturday, but I did begin another decade of my life; quietly with a walk on the beach, reflecting on the past and making plans for the future. And then it was Sunday and after a painful night of tossing and turning, I reached for the aloe to nurse my sunburnt shoulders and decided everything could wait until Monday, including getting up.
Today I walked past Jenkins Funeral Home on my way to the gym and a hearse was parked curbside, back hatch door wide open, waiting to be loaded. The first thought that came to my mind was The Hearse song I learned during a girl scout camping trip and I couldn't help but start to sing, "the worms crawl in, the worms crawl out, the worms play pinochle on your snout..." The whole thing gave me the creeps as it did back then, so I crossed the street and tried to look elsewhere, but as with most anything scary, from a safe distance it's hard to resist another peek.
Walking home last week, two girls ran up to me as I neared the top of the hill in my village. "You got a facebook?" they blurted in unison.
"Am I on facebook?"
The girls looked at each other and rolled their eyes. "Ya," the taller one said.
"Yes, I'm on facebook."
"What's your name, we gonna friend you?"
"Connie."
"That your facebook name?"
"Connie Howard is my facebook name."
They divided the chore of remembering my name between them, repeating it several times.
"Say yes when we friend you," Tanequa said. "T for Tiger, a-n-e-q-u-a."
"Tanequa," I repeated.
"Me too, the other one said. "Shanequa. S for Sexy, h-a-n-e-q-u-a.."
"Okay, Shanequa."
"Where you live Connie Howard?"
I pointed to my house which was just up the road.
"You from Italy?"
"No, America."
"I love America," Tanequa said and grabbed Shanequa's hand. "We gotta go, but we gonna friend you when we get home," she promised as they ran down the hill.
I'm still teaching expository writing to the 3rd grade at Maurice Hillier. Last week we worked on apology letters and I taught the kids how to address envelopes. Both skills are part of the standards they must know for end of the year testing. I suggested they write to a classmate, which didn't turn out to be a problem since apparently everyone had wronged someone sitting near them at one time or another. Anyway, to make the lesson more fun, I promised I would mail the completed letters at the post office so that each would receive a letter at home. Reading the letters before I mailed them was hysterical.
Two examples: Dear Andria, I am sorry I hit you on the head with my bible puzzle book. Jaylen forced me to do it. I will be your assistant every day next month starting June 1 if you forgive me. I promise I will never do it again. Love, Tabian.
Dear Jaida, I am sorry I stole your lunch money. Miss Matthew forced me to do it. I take full responsibility for my actions and will never do it again. Would you like me to bring you flowers? Your friend, Onaje.
I'm not sure it translates well in the telling, but it gave me a good laugh and reminded me that kids are kids no matter where they live.
I'm off to do a radio show to promote my 25 Most Remarkable Teens in St. Kitts project. More on that later.
And so it goes, for now.
