So, it's on the back table, awaiting the return of the instructions. They will probably be there tomorrow.
I started clearing my workbench when the CD Changer brought a Simon and Garfunkle song. This got me to thinking ....
I started the 6th grade in El Cajon, Ca, where I quickly learned that the only thing worse than being short and fat, with red hair and freckles, is being all of that while wearing a dress. California girls do not wear the standard dress or skirt to school as did Oregon girls, but instead have fun tops and pants. Even if we could have afforded these clothes, Mother believed girls belonged in dresses.
Mother and I lived with Penny, her best friend from High School, and her much older daughters, Marcy and Diane. Fortunately, for me, the apartment was only 2 blocks from my school. This allowed me, along with a note, to go home for lunch.
I loved being in the apartment alone for that 45 minutes each day. Typically, I made a bologna sandwich with a side of ice cream. I'd put an album on the record player. Growing up, my mother had music; 1000 string instrumental Lawrence Welk kinda stuff. But Marcy and Diane had lots of other music. My favorite, at the time, being Simon and Garfunkle. I'd turn up the volume, much louder than would have been allowed, and I 'd sing. I knew the words to every song. I'd sing as loud as the music. During pauses, I'd have bites of my lunch. And then, I'd shut it all down, putting the album carefully back into the cover (as I'd never received permission to touch them), and I'd go back to school.
It was one such lunch and I was belting out the 'la la la' chorus of The Boxer, when I realized I wasn't alone. Marcy had appeared, and without even cracking a smile, turned down the stereo, and disappeared back to her bedroom. I thought I was going to die. I thought I was going to get in trouble for playing with the record player. I thought I wasn't going to be able to come home for lunch anymore.
That night I waited for the reprimand. I knew that Marcy would tell her Mother, who would tell my Mother, who would proceed with The Talk. But, it didn't happen.
Instead, Marcy took up singing The Boxer, slightly under her breath whenever I was around. And, whenever I came home for lunch, I checked the rooms before I put on the music.
Thanks for dropping by,