work, the interesting days

kid story of the year!
this little guy at Cascade Elementary was bouncing across the gym with a large therapy ball (with a handle). He stopped at the width of the gym to turn, and he was breathing quickly. he set his hand on his chest and turned his face to me and said completely unaware, "There is a guitar in my heart."




Mr. P is in his 60s -- disheveled is a mild adjective. long white beard, dirty with grey. bald on top with long strands over his ears that for some reason remind me of a rabbi. wednesday was the first time i saw him in actual shoes -- boots with the tops folded down, a decision that i am sure was made because of the swelling in his feet. even though he wore shoes he still had on his drawstring pants -- note: sleepwear. but as a whole the decision to wear navy printed sleepwear was better than the sweatpants that i cinched with a clothspin after a patient and her son in the waiting area unassumingly were granted a full moon when they dropped below his thighs for standing up from his wheelchair. i like this man. he is interesting. great conversationist. makes moonshine. brought us a jar. sells it for $80 a gallon. has a prominent nose that reminds me of a friend. it makes his face nice to me. he had a knee replaced and could care less if he does anymore than walk again. enjoys hating therapy. i enjoy being his friend.

Mr. P asks me every monday afternoon if i got married over the weekend. this has gone on for weeks now. most recently he told me that if i don't hurry and resolve my state as an old maid (which according to Mr. P began at 16 years of age as a single woman -- because i am from tennessee) that he is going to start proposing. he asked yet again today if my wedding was planned for this saturday. i said, "Now, Jack, i told you that you would get an invitation to my wedding and have you gotten an invitation?" he looked at me seriously, "no. but who is he? where is he? i insist you bring him over to meet me. if i don't like 'im, i'll throw him out in the back well."

i just laughed, "ok, jack."


addendum: i have decided that if i lived in a large city, work conversation / interrogation would look much differently. i live in a small town. to some people moving as a single person to a small town is a death sentence. i think it is great. not the death sentence part -- because it is not one, but the people, the stories. this time in my life is special to me. but it causes lots of gossip from the locals...haha.