WHEN YOU DON'T THINK THINGS THROUGH

I started my last year and a half of high school in Sarasota Florida which was the winter home for the Ringling Brother's Circus though by the time I got there, they had mostly moved to Venice Florida just south of us. It was cool to sit in class with a kid whose Dad was shot out of a cannon for a living.

The school took advantage of the fact that we had many kids from second and third generation circus families. Each year, the school put on a big top show known as the Sailor Circus. It was billed as The Greatest "Little" Show on Earth. It is still put on each year and you can learn about it here .

What an exciting thing to have at your school. It featured all the events from trapeze, high wire, Spanish web, tumbling, juggling and of course the clowns. Not only the sons and daughters in the business performed but anyone who wanted to learn was given an opportunity. Many were novices.

Few kids have not been taken in by the glamour of the circus. There is just a certain romance about performing amazing feats to thrill the crowds and traveling around the country. Well this circus didn't travel but it was as big here as any of the sports programs. Besides the glamour, scholarships were available to the University of Florida which also has a circus program. I was the new girl once again and was totally captivated by a possible circus career at least as a means for a scholarship.

I thought about it a lot and decided high wire was my niche. Wearing a dainty tutu as I bravely crossed the wire seemed very appealing. So I signed up and started rigorous training.

The wire is not really a wire but a hefty cable. The training wire was only three feet off the ground. We wore ballet like slippers, kept our bodies straight, looked at the end of the rope and let our arms seek balance. Coach said that balance would come, that our bodies would learn and he was right. Every day after school I practiced till supper time. At home, I had a tape on my floor that I walked heel to toe back and forth. I definitely wasn't scholarship worthy but I was learning.

Eventually, I could drop to the wire on my butt and bounce back up to my feet. That was my only "trick." Then the "you know what" hit the fan. Coach said,"Well I guess it is time for you to move to the high wire."

Duh, what had I been thinking. I could not do it. I couldn't even climb the ladder. I was land locked. I had totally forgotten my episode on the air craft carrier many years before. I was unable to convince Coach that a performance on a wire three feet off the ground would impress an audience.

My dreams of the pink tutu and my daintily prancing across the wire with a pretty umbrella died. The only saving grace out of the whole thing is that I had told no one, not even my family, what I was doing for it was to be a big surprise. My little speech was all planned. "Oh by the way--if you aren't doing anything Saturday night--I will be walking the high wire at the Sailor Circus." Never got to say that. For a while, I was pretty crushed.

Coach was almost as sorry as I was for he had put a lot of time in on me. He was kicking himself for not asking if I had any phobias or at least seeing if I could climb a ladder. To save something from the situation, he asked if I wanted to be a clown. Hum, wonder if he was trying to tell me something? By now I had the sawdust in my veins so I agreed. Anything to be part of the circus.

My clown character was a crowd roamer and teaser. I was to throw buckets of confetti on people and pull coins out of kids ears. I learned the painless pratfall and fake trip in my big feet. Truthfully, I felt a little silly practicing these feats on imaginary people or fellow clown want to be's. However when the big night came and I got in full costume with face paint, fake nose and hair, baggy clothes and big shoes, I discovered I was a born clown.

I loved it. My outrageous side sprang loose and I was a new person. There is something about being in disguise that lets the inner child out. No one really knows who you are so you can be totally ridiculous. I had found my niche.

Tightrope walker has a romantic image but clowns have more fun. A walker's thrill lasts minutes where a clown entertains all night. Much better choice.

If you ever get a chance to slap on the grease paint, go for it. There is another you, in you, begging to come out.

WHEN YOU DON'T THINK THINGS THROUGH

Got nothing so this is a rerun from June 2009. 


I started my last year and a half of high school in Sarasota Florida which was the winter home for the Ringling Brother's Circus though by the time I got there, they had mostly moved to Venice Florida just south of us. It was cool to sit in class with a kid whose Dad was shot out of a cannon for a living.

The school took advantage of the fact that we had many kids from second and third generation circus families. Each year, the school put on a big top show known as the Sailor Circus. It was billed as The Greatest "Little" Show on Earth. It is still put on each year and you can learn about it here .

What an exciting thing to have at your school.  We had no animals which was a plus but it featured all the events from trapeze, high wire, Spanish web, tumbling, juggling and of course the clowns. Not only the sons and daughters in the business performed but anyone who wanted to learn was given an opportunity. Many were novices like me.

Few kids have not been taken in by the glamour of the circus. There is just a certain romance about performing amazing feats to thrill the crowds and traveling around the country. Well this circus didn't travel but it was as big here as any of the sports programs. 

Besides the glamour, scholarships were available to  Florida State University which also has a circus program. I was the new girl once again and was totally captivated by a possible circus career at least as a means for a scholarship.

I thought about it a lot and decided high wire was my niche. Wearing a dainty tutu as I bravely crossed the wire seemed very appealing. So I signed up and started rigorous training.

The wire is not really a wire but a hefty cable. The training wire was only three feet off the ground. We wore ballet like slippers, kept our bodies straight, looked at the end of the rope and let our arms seek balance. Coach said that balance would come, that our bodies would learn and he was right. Every day after school I practiced till supper time. At home, I had a tape on my floor that I walked heel to toe back and forth. I definitely wasn't scholarship worthy but I was learning.

Eventually, I could drop to the wire on my butt and bounce back up to my feet. That was my only "trick." Then the "you know what" hit the fan. Coach said,"Well I guess it is time for you to move to the high wire."

Duh, what had I been thinking. I could not do it. I couldn't even climb the ladder. I was land locked with unshakable fear.   Somehow couldn't convince Coach that a performance on a wire three feet off the ground would impress anyone.

My dreams of the pink tutu and my daintily prancing across the wire with a pretty umbrella died. The only saving grace out of the whole thing is that I had told no one, not even my family what I was doing for it was to be a big surprise. My little speech was all planned. "Oh by the way--if you aren't doing anything Saturday night--I will be walking the high wire at the Sailor Circus." Never got to say that. For a while, I was pretty crushed.

Coach was almost as sorry as I was for he had put a lot of time in on me. He was kicking himself for not asking if I had any serious phobias or at least seeing if I could climb a ladder. To save something from the situation, he asked if I wanted to be a clown. Hum, wonder if he was trying to tell me something? By now I had the sawdust in my veins so I agreed. Anything to be part of the circus.

My clown character was a crowd roamer and teaser. I was to throw buckets of confetti on people and pull coins out of kids ears. I learned the painless pratfall and fake trip in my big feet. Truthfully, I felt a little silly practicing these feats on imaginary people or fellow clown want to be's. However when the big night came and I got in full costume with face paint, fake nose and hair, baggy clothes and big shoes, I discovered I was a born clown.

I loved it. My outrageous side sprang loose and I was a new person. There is something about being in disguise that lets the inner child out. No one really knows who you are so you can be totally ridiculous. I had found my niche.

Tightrope walker has a romantic image but clowns have more fun. A walker's thrill lasts minutes where a clown entertains all night. Much better choice.

If you ever get a chance to slap on the grease paint, go for it. There might be another you, in you, begging to come out.

Did you ever overreach?

THE WEEK THAT WAS

It is not unusual for things to go awry in our lives. Usually we learn a bit and just go on. However it is when we pay good money for the event and it affects what little vanity old age lets us keep, that makes it a bit harder to just grin and bear it. 

Some of you know I have been nursing a sore shoulder since a January spill I took on some ice. I am much better but still not totally functional.  Combing my hair is still a painful process to be avoided.  So as my former perm died and my hair was in desperate need of a cut, I was forced to seek help. My street person look was getting too realistic. So instead of cutting my own hair and giving myself a 5 dollar perm as I normally would, I hired out the job.

A lot of beauticians employ the trick of not letting the customer see what they are doing. They position the chair so our back is to the mirror and talk a lot to distract us. I can understand the reasoning. 

This girl had done just that and when she was down to about 4 rollers left to position, she swung me around to see.  Mercy, she had used more curlers on a third of my head than I use on my whole head.  Well I thought, this perm should last a while. 

When the curlers were removed, I was a bit stunned.  I was uber kinky, and not in a fun way. There was one real possibility in my future. I could definitely apply to clown school. Where did I put that red nose and huge shoes from my high school days as a clown?  
  

Not me or my picture. I didn't have the stomach to take an actual photo. Even old gals have pride.

Ok, that picture is a mild exaggeration but my hair really was out of control. It seemingly had grown an incredible three extra inches, had flared out in all directions and was perfectly frizzy. The image made me chuckle, till I realized, 'Oh crap, that's me.' 

Did my beautician act alarmed or at least a bit sheepish?? Nope. She not only did not try to comb it out or style it--she just shoved me under a dryer and then quickly out the door after making sure no one would see me exit her shop. I was surprised I didn't get the back door treatment. 

I was several inches taller and 75 bucks lighter. Actually, had this happened when my face was all puffy a while back, I could have gone on a 5 county crime spree and no one would know who I was. 

I wasn't too alarmed and was thinking surely I could tame the mess somehow once I got home.  However hours of painful manipulating with a bum arm did nothing but make it seem to grow bushier and set my shoulder recovery back a good month.

I buried my pride and went to lunch with some friends two days later. It was too early in the perm to do anything but wash and pray.  I did meet them for the meal but only after I had wrapped it tightly in a scarf for hours to smush it down before lunch. All through lunch, I could feel it slowly springing back to its original state. Feeling your hair literally growing on your head is a wee bit disconcerting.  

My head no longer found rest but remained several inches above what ever I laid it on. I was pretty sure if dropped on my head I would just bounce. The texture was very similar to steel wool and I was thinking it might take tin snips to cut it. After struggling for a week trying to regain control, I could take no more. I needed professional help.

I was not willing to let that original cold hearted beautician tackle the mess even though she owed me. So I desperately hunted for a beautician that could take me in RIGHT NOW. I needed help and I found it.  Maybe I should have taken this beautician's instant availability as a warning but I was desperate. What could she possibly do to make it worse? Push come to shove, I would just have her shave it all off and start from scratch.

The new salon was totally empty except for one beautician, usually not a positive sign. She was a  middle aged, very thin woman whose own hair was in dire need of a make over. I tried to console myself  that often the best beauticians and mechanics seldom had great looking hair or good running cars as they were too busy to work on their own.  I didn't hesitate to settle in the chair for I was desperate and there was always the shaved-head solution to fall back on.

However, my luck really improved. She turned out to be quite pleasant, very quick and thankfully talented. In just a few moments, she had deftly lowered my wild hair, clipped off the frizz, shaped the cut and gave me back a modicum of pride. Finally I could go out in public again, hold my head up and be recognized by friends. My budding career as a criminal or a clown was over before it got started. Life was good. 

  Am I still very curly?? You bet, but the kink has softened enormously and my head no longer bounces off the pillow. I miss my little bangs to hide my high forehead but I am Ok. My hair grows very quickly so hope is back that in a few weeks or so, all will be be back to normal once again. I can do this. Now when I wake up, I can shake my head, run my fingers through the really short curls and I am good to go. The no pain from useless brushing is a lovely gain.   

Have you ever had a disaster at the hairdressers or barber shop?? Would you have immediately demanded satisfaction from the original beautician or would you have done like I did to crawl meekly off with a silent vow of never to  cross that threshold again? 

HAD NOTHING

I don't know if you watch Big Bang Theory or Mom but they are two of my favorite, laugh out loud TV shows.  At the end of each show for about 3 seconds the producer, Chuck Lorre will flash one of his vanity cards.  If you don't have a pause feature on your TV, you will never be able to read them. I do and I always check.

The guy is really funny, his topics usually  off  the wall and will often give insight to the show though sometimes you wonder what he is smoking. Regardless, they are worth the minute to read. The last show, even without the pause feature, anyone could read for it only said," Got nothing."

That was me for today but a blogger I follow, Ginnie at Goldendaze-Ginnie was sweet enough to give me an award. Ginnie has a very interesting blog and she and I have a lot in common. If you don't go there all ready, check her out.

Thank you so much for the award and for bailing me out of a writer's block Ginnie.

I know most of you are award free blogs so instead of naming 7 bloggers to tag as required, I am going to let anyone who follows me to take up the challenge if they wish. You are all beautiful--- even you handsome fellows.

The rules are:
1. Link to the  blogger who has nominated you.
2. List seven random facts about you. 
3. Nominate seven creative, beautiful bloggers and let them know about the nomination. 

I am doing 2 out of 3 which is good for me.  I have provided links to the posts mentioned on the list if you want details but trust me, the synopsis is enough. 

1. First random fact is that I don't always follow the rules as evidenced by my handling of this award. Bad Patti.

2.  I  love gypsies.  My little car had broken down in the middle of nowhere in  south Georgia. A band of gypsies stopped to help. The men patched my car, then tucked me in the middle of their colorful group of vehicles and safely nursed me to a large town that would have the part I needed. They made me feel safe and secure.

3, I have been known to over reach which is how I became a  clown in a circus. Tried out for high wire for the Sailor Circus,forgetting I am terrified of heights. Funny but a clown costume suited me much better than the tutu.

4. I shared a wall in the hospital with the actor George Hamilton when I quit smoking.  Odd how he got all the attention from the nurses and I got zip. He did look fantastic with a 10 day growth of beard and bed hair.

5. I love Mennonites. What a caring and selfless people they are. They gave of themselves in a time of crisis when a flood took all I had. They made me smile when it was hard to.

6.  I have been clean and sober since 1976 which is when I cleaned up my act dumping  alcohol and is probably why I am alive today.

7. I love blogging, reading others as much as writing my own.  Even on days when I "have nothing," a blogger that I follow will save my bacon.

Thank you Ginnie for the award and for giving me some words to type today. I so hate that blank page syndrome.

If you also find yourself facing the dreaded blank page, feel free to borrow this challenge.

What do you do for writer's block?

JO EL SONNIER

A singer I enjoy is Jo El Sonnier. He is a Cajun singer that I wish had more songs for me to enjoy. I discovered Zydeco music with the movie "The Big Easy" and became hooked. It reaches a spot in my soul that finds it  pleasing, happy yet with a touch of melancholy and is strangely familiar. Perhaps in another life my toes tapped in the Louisiana mud in time with an accordian??

Often Zydeco is very up beat music that makes the feet want to dance. However, one of my favorite songs of Jo El's is, “Someday I'll Lead the Parade.” Now that is a  really, really sad song and definitely not a toe tapper. One of those songs reserved for funerals or reflection so I will spare you. Below is just a taste of the chorus.

“Some day I will,

Someday I know I will,

Someday I will lead the parade”

This of course implying that you are in the hearse leading the parade of mourners.   Well those chorus lyrics  pretty much came true for me the other day in a very benign way.

I live fairly far from the nearest town so I make my shopping trips count. I normally hate shopping on weekends for two reasons. It is crowded but also I remember my working days when that was the only time I could shop so I try not to get in the way of those people with real jobs. I can wait. But, I was almost out of dog food and Mighty can't wait so I broke my Saturday rule.

As I approached town, I saw cars piled up on the side of the road and blue lights flashing from multiple patrol cars. Aww poop I thought, as I slapped my forehead remembering this Saturday was big doings for the small town.

It was festival time. The tiny town of under 3000 population swells to over 60,000 during festival. We locals go one time out of curiosity, then avoid the mob scene like the plague.

Picture is from my  only festival attempt. It is so packed that you really only see the shirt of the person in front of you.  Not my idea of fun.

I was looking for a way to bypass the town but I was trapped. All the side streets were blocked. Traffic going my way was not being stopped, only those coming the opposite way were being rerouted. The cop waved me through.

The sides of the road were packed with cars and people. The closer to town I got, the cars disappeared and the crowds got larger. I looked at my watch, it was 9:59. Yikes, one minute before parade time.  Behind me, I could hear a band flexing its musical muscles. 

Anxious people leaned out as I approached only to be sorely disappointed when they saw I was pretty ordinary and certainly not a float, clown or band.  I was a bit glad though that I had taken the time to hose the pollen off my little vehicle before I left that morning. I was at least presentable.

I wanted to look for familiar faces but had to concentrate on my driving for people kept dashing across the road for a better site or maybe just exercising their chicken tendencies. For safety reasons, I slowed to about 8 mph.  Since I was literally leading the parade, I decided to have fun. I pasted a big grin on my face and broke out my best parade wave.

Block after block, several startled yet polite folks waved back wondering just who the heck I was. Surely I must be important but they had to wonder where the banner was that would have identified me. They probably wrote me off as a low budget politician.

I had a grand time. Now I have been on floats before in parades but have never been the leader. The cool thing which gave me the giggles as I waved myself down main street was that unlike with Jo El's song, I didn't have to die to lead the parade, just have perfect timing.

It twas a fun day. 

You ever have great timing for an unexpected event?

WHICH IS THE LIE

Reworked post from 2013.

The following is a test. Now if you fail, there will be no consequences. If you pass, you and I will both feel pretty good. If you nail it right off, you are either a really good guesser or my most faithful reader for all but one of these I have posted about.  The prize??  Self satisfaction.   

I will list things about myself that I have done or am. These are things I have posted about before but one is a bald faced lie. Your job, if you choose to accept the challenge, is to guess which is the lie.    

To be fair to all, AFTER you post your guess, you can verify whether it was correct by clicking on the links I have provided. If the link brings up my blog it was a truth, if it brings up Wikipedia, you have found the lie.  

Good luck. 

1.   I was solicited by a pimp

2.   I raced a tropical storm in the Atlantic.

3.   I was  a clown in the circus.

4.   I was in a movie. 

5.   I traveled with Gypsies. 

6.   I out ran an ex- convict. 

7.   I turned down swapping spit with Elvis.

8.   I hiked 2 days on  the Appalachian Trail.  

9.   I caught Burt Reynold's eye. 

10. I hobnobbed with a bunch of leopards.

Good luck.

I do  hope some of you try this on your own blogs. I'd love to guess your  "lie."

FIRST RODEO

The other day I was able to witness my first rodeo from my living room window.  No, not the cowboy, saddle bronc, raging bull and clown type of rodeo but a road equipment rodeo.

They are paving or rather re-paving the side street I live on. I was virtually penned in my house for a couple of days as humongous and bizarre equipment filled my driveway.

I was basically trapped and hoping this was not a time to experiment with a heart attack, I pulled up a seat and watched the show.

We have all passed road construction being half annoyed by the delays but this was the first time I got to see it from start to finish. It is quite a process.

Soon however I was fascinated by a hyper active little Bobcat pushing a front end loader.

Not my picture

I was enthralled by the show it was putting on.  The driver was using the bucket to pick up  droppings from the paving machine and smoothing out the roads edges.

The driver worked as if he were getting paid for piece work and definitely not by the hour. That little vehicle just flew. He only used one speed and that was full out both forward and backward.

He would throw the bucket into the air and the front wheels would come off the ground. It would balance for a bit in the air, speed forward on the two wheels, then slam to the pavement. I was thinking the driver couldn't possibly have two vertebra left in proper alignment.

To show his versatility he would often switch directions with the ease of a zero turn lawnmower while balanced on just two wheels.

I tried to snap a picture of him but I was too slow and my videos don't seem to be compatible with blogger so I borrowed this one from YouTube showing  the capabilities of a Bobcat with a skilled driver.

All the time I am thinking, this has to be a really young gun to jockey the machine like he was. I couldn't see him but he had to have been grinning as he popped wheelies and whipped the machine around in circles on two wheels.

It reared on to its back wheels and bucked on to its front wheels. This was a machine rodeo.  While it was quite a show, pretty sure I wouldn't want him driving my car nor would I want to be the owner of the Bobcat.

Finally he backed it up into my driveway and shut it down.  Lunch time.  I waited for the young man to dismount but my jaw dropped when he did.

This was no 20 year old hot dogger.  Out of the machine popped a man who was beyond AARP eligible.  Huh???  He must have a spine of steel.

Yes, I was guilty of assuming an older person couldn't possibly have the spunk nor physicality to handle a machine with such daring do. I was so wrong.  Bad Patti.

Ever get caught incorrectly assuming?

SHAMELESS

Yes I am shameless and quite frankly, I am a bit proud of it.

Lately my trees and vines have climbed my power pole till they completely surrounded my outdoor security light that I pay for on my light bill.  Outside of a nice glow among the trees, I got no benefit at all from the light. This is the second time this has happened.

I called the power company and they promised to send someone out that day to trim the branches so I thought I'd get in some lawn mowing while I waited.
I just finished mowing and was walking to the house when a power company bucket truck with two nice young men  pulled up to the gate.

The head guy sadly said that they could only cut the branches down and pile them up.  I would have to dispose of them.  I said,"OK," thinking this would not be too difficult.  Then they went to work.

The pile kept getting higher.

The branches kept getting bigger. 

That is when I shamelessly played the age card. I said nothing but took quick action.

When I mow on the rider, I wear a huge brimmed sombrero, two cooling neck scarves, and am lathered in white zinc oxide for sun block that looks a lot like clown make up. I am pretty sure my disguise made my age a mystery.

Recently I have been nursing a bum shoulder that makes shifting gears in my car and even pulling up my underwear an uncomfortable, painful experience. Realizing I probably could not handle this huge pile, I was getting worried.   Pretty sure those limbs weighed more than my underwear. Steps had to be taken.

I eased into the house, removed the hat and scarves, quickly washed off the grease paint exposing my wrinkles and fluffed up my white hair. Did I limp a bit when I went back out?? Well I do have a bad back and hip. It is hard to show that a shoulder is hurting so I MAY have exaggerated my normal limp a wee bit to make the point that I was a beat up old lady.

I limped up to the head guy for a casual chat.  He looked at me closely for the first time. We chatted a bit, then he went to his truck and talked quietly on the radio.

He came back with a big smile and said he had arranged for the wood chipper truck to stop by in the next few days to remove the debris.  Ah, what a sweet man.

I thanked him profusely saying that I really didn't know how I would have managed that pile---and that was the truth.  I was enormously relieved and he got to spend the rest of the day rightfully feeling good about himself.  Win/win.

When I was younger, I would have gone in, fixed my hair, made sure my deodorant was still working, added makeup, put on some short shorts with a flattering blouse and hope for the same results. Now days, white hair, wrinkles and a bit of a limp works just fine. This isn't new shameless behavior, just different.

Have you ever deliberately played the age card or exaggerated an ache or pain to get extra service?

RUTH

When Ruth appeared at the bank doors each month, all my sister tellers suddenly feigned being busy. They all knew I would wait on anyone regardless of their pleasantness and they were quite content to let me. Also, I had the window closest to the door.

Ruth, regardless of weather, was always dressed in a mid-weight, long black coat, a flowered neck scarf and black gloves. This was Florida folks and this outfit was worn for all seasons. She never appeared either hot or cold. Her gray hair was pulled into an extremely tight bun that looked almost painful. It was so tight that it had to have performed a mini face lift.

She wore glasses but I am sure they needed upgrading by the way her make up was applied. She had enough rouge on her cheeks to embarrass a clown and her lipstick wandered off her lip line.

As she would approach my window, her smell arrived first. Now she did not have armpit or an unclean under ware smell, but instead smelled musty like an old house that had been shut up for a long time or perhaps like the oldest book in the library. There was a strong desire to sneeze when around her.

She had gotten use to my window being the only beckoning one and usually would head straight for me unless I was actually busy. Our conversation never varied. I would ask her how she was today and her terse reply was. “Well, I woke up this morning so I guess I'm good.” Any other questions or attempts at conversation were met with head nods or shaking. She was not terribly verbal.

So I would smile and she would lay her light bill on the counter. At that time, we collected light and phone bills for the various utility companies which helped the senior population.

Ruth would slide the bill towards me with out further comment. Of course this was years ago but even then she had a minuscule light bill. She must have only had one light bulb, a hot plate and a small refrigerator for her bill was usually well under ten dollars.

Ruth carried a small, well worn black change purse with a snap closure. I would tell her the amount and she would proceed to pull the wrinkled money very slowly out of the purse. A five, a dollars, a half dollar, some quarters, a lot of pennies. These she produced very slowly as she brought them forth one at a time.

Finally, she would empty the contents, shake it to prove there was no more and sigh loudly as if the whole procedure was an exhausting chore. I would count the change, knowing it was not going to be enough. Usually she would be anywhere from a dollar and a half to two dollars short .

When she first started coming in, we tried to tell her that she was not giving us enough money but she would tear up and wring her hands helplessly saying that was all she had.

Feeling just awful, we would always cave and tell her it would be all right, that we had made a mistake and she had just the right amount. After that, we just accepted what ever amount she gave us. Old lady tears are just too painful to watch.

Now, acting as if she had paid the right amount, she waited for me to stamp her bill “paid” and send her on her way, which I always did. I would then write the deficit amount down and would pay it myself later. My head teller knew the routine and would watch me make up the difference in my drawer after closing.

I was not the only teller who did this but I definitely did it the most often. We were all pretty much reluctant Ruth helpers. This went on for a couple of years.

Each Christmas she would bring in the smallest and cheapest box of chocolates available to be shared by all of us girls. Though we worried how she could afford even that small amount, we pretended like it was a box of the finest Swiss chocolates.

One month I was saddened when she did not show up and instead a man saying he was her son presented her light bill. He said his mother had passed and he wanted to thank us for taking care of her. She had evidently had mentioned us to him in good terms. I was more than a bit pleased that she had noticed. Quietly she passed from our lives.

Then a few weeks later, one of the girls came in from lunch all excited. She was waving the local paper and saying,”You are not going to believe this.”

The news story was that her son, wanting to sell our little Ruth's home , was having it renovated. When the contractor removed the tattered wall board, they discovered a little over $36,000, tucked into the walls (in those days, that was a ton of money).

She evidently poked holes in the drywall and dropped the money into the holes , then covered the holes with pictures. No telling how long it took her to amass that amount of money. It had to have taken many years of depriving herself. Our two dollar contributions wouldn't have made a dent.

At first that news story had us grumbling that "no good deed goes unpunished." Eventually though we saw the humor of how that little old lady had totally hoodwinked us. I am pretty sure that even if we had known of her unorthodox wall safe, we probably still would have helped pay her light bill.

As bleak as her life was because she denied herself of most of life's comforts and pleasures, that once a month game she played on us didn't really hurt us and it must have given her some pleasure. In addition it gave her a couple extra dollars to tuck into the wall each month.

Yes, we had all been conned by that little old lady, but we had to admit that she had made us all feel quite good about ourselves whenever she left our windows each month. Pretty sure we got our two bucks worth in self esteem.