Unique. Not to England, uniqueness, kindness, humanitarian is global. Not much to draw about this story. I’ll get down to the grit.
Before school started, my dad was staying with us, we perused the city centre daily. Not a big city, but big enough, there were a handful of street performers. The girls were enthralled with the young gentleman blowing the largest, the most oblong, the most full-proof bubbles that fascinated any imagination. Kate-running, chasing, popping, repeat. A few body bumps. Caroline and Helen loved it too.
The young gentleman had several buckets and showed the girls how to do it. He showed, he never told. He had two wooden sticks and a blue string that tied them together. I could not, but the girls solved the puzzle. They were blowing beautiful bubbles. Kate kept bursting them. The girls stayed and played. Stayed and played. Perhaps an overstayed welcome, but this gentleman was so kind and the girls were happy. In a dream. In a child’s heaven. He had a black hat for donations, coins speckled the bottom. Thinking we needed to move along I went up to him and handed him some bills. My heart told me he needed it.
We walked and walked. We enjoyed the scenery, the unique stores. A tap. A rapid breath. This unique gentleman handed me a folded paper–very wrinkled, with the recipe for bubbles. Thank you! We will make this. The girls will love it. Unique, kind eyes, thanked me. Seconds later, he handed me the bubble sticks with the blue string. I thanked God that I was wearing sunglasses at that moment, but it wouldn’t have mattered. I do not know how to thank you. You ran a very long way, and very fast to give this to us. We thank you! So very kind of you. My girls loved the bubbles. Repeat of a unique and kind thank you with his eyes doubled with a smile. My sunglasses shielded tears swelling. And as I said, sunglasses did not matter, tears rolled down my cheeks. That is my front page story. I read that. It is the news I want to hear. That unique gentleman ran a good distance, quickly through crowded streets to thank us. I will forever thank him.
Other notes that could be posts alone: * We walk to Caroline’s Senior School every morning, it’s two blocks from our house, and then Kate and Helen take a mini bus to the lower school, one mile away. Before school started I felt discombobulated. I was in administration’s office everyday. The girls have attended school for seven days, and I have been in faculty offices at senior school Every. Single. Morning. I met with the head of the Tech department for the last three days. This morning I sat in reception (the lobby) and waited for him. No appointment. I felt like, “What about Bob?” Is Dr. Leo Martin here yet? No, Mrs. Sexton, he has not come in yet. When he walked through the double doors, I quickly received him and asked, could I bother you again? Of course, Mrs. Sexton. Let’s go to my office.
He was very helpful with IT problems Caroline was having on her iPad, completely for school use. We talked off subject every morning. I left (or perhaps was escorted), this probably is not normal for a senior parent to be in faculties’ office every morning since the start of school. Well no, but we very much understand, Mrs. Sexton.
To balance myself, I made a point to pick-up Kate and Helen today at school. Every Thursday after lower school, they have drop-in parent/teacher “talks.” I want the teachers to know me there too;)
School. It will be a new post. Almost eight days, and I have pages to write about the school experience through my eyes. As it becomes more routine, I’m sure my impressions will drain.
Baby steps. That’s all you need. So if I baby step through England, I can do anything. I feel good, I feel great, I feel wonderful. Someday I will go sailing.
Abbey Row 