I commuted to college every day.
I had wonderful friends that lived on campus.
One special friend went to grade school, high school, and college with me.
I was always so grateful to her that I could stay in her dorm room between classes.

Two other girls lived across the hall and we all became close friends.
I was always included even though I missed much of the college life on campus.
I worked and went to school, so my time was extremely full.
I was the queen of multitasking, it seemed; which we all had to be back then.

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I never expected to hear a symphony on my morning walk.
I heard a cacophony of sounds as I walked along.
I found myself playing a guessing game, What made that sound?
I couldn’t believe the things I heard.

First, I noticed the rustle of my jacket as my arms went back and forth.
Then the zipper as it moved with my every step.
My sneakers made a distinct sound against the road, inadvertently kicking a pebble or two.
I heard my own breath as I climbed.

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I was in my husband’s office and glanced at his desk.
His desk does not reflect how organized he really is.
I tend to dust around things, since this is HIS desk and I might disrupt his system.

It’s hard for me because I would not choose to have piles no matter how neat they are.
I wouldn’t want him to rearrange the kitchen cabinets, so I must respect his desk.
He has a painting of the Georgia Tech Tower over his leather chair.
He received a beautiful Georgia Tech lamp as a gift.

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I was sitting at my computer writing the next day’s blog post.
I saw the UPS truck come down the street.
I was hoping it might be stopping at my house.

I remembered that the garages were closed.
I went through the laundry room to open the doors.
Sure enough the brown truck was reversing down my driveway.

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It was bulk trash day in our township.
The one day set aside twice a year to get rid of larger items.
My husband reminded me that the day was coming up.
He wanted to know if we had anything I wanted him to bring.

I knew right away that there were a few things in the attic.
An old suitcase that has seen better days, the dressing table on which I changed my children, and our old crib.

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There we were coming into church, all those years ago, with five little children.
My oldest and youngest were twelve years apart, with everyone else in between.
I usually held the baby who was sleeping in my arms.
I brought small books for the younger ones to look at and expected the older ones to listen.

Every little sound, every little whimper is magnified in church.
It is as if there are heavenly acoustics that make sure every sound is heard.
It is music to God’s ears.
It is stressful for young parents.

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Before our mall was renovated years ago, there was a fountain my children loved.
The fountain was in one of the anchor stores, right between the escalators.
There was a raised platform all around the fountain that could be used as a seat.
Mostly it was temptation for children to climb on, to get a better look.

This fountain was the main attraction for my children.
They each loved throwing coins into the water.
They came back to me for pennies as if I were a gumball machine dispensing candy.
I had to come well stocked since each of them got the same number of pennies.

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My youngest daughter babysits for families from our church.
She is following in her sister’s footsteps.
She is following her mother as well.

I loved babysitting.
I especially loved the family that I babysat for almost exclusively.
They had three children: boy, girl, boy.

The girl and I were kindred spirits.
Alone, we would have been outnumbered.
But together, we were a formidable team.

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I walked into the grocery store behind them.
A mother with three children by her side.
Wonderful signs of summer.

One little boy was so precocious.
He never stopped talking and asking questions.

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It was a very special gift from my husband.
It was not jewelry or flowers.
It was a typewriter.

Some may scoff and say, that’s not a gift for a husband to give a wife.
But it was, and always will be, a very special gift to me.

We were only married a few years and had one daughter, with one on the way.
It wasn’t a “I don’t know what to get her” kind of gift.
It meant much more.

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