dona's 365

Miss Meyer scared even the parents, but I liked her. Maybe she saw that I was vulnerable, maybe she just liked me. When she decided I needed to repeat third grade, I asked to be in her class again. Genuinely surprised, but pleased said, "most don't want me one year."

When I told Marie ’s mom, a Marie herself, about an antipasto dish I loved but couldn’t reproduce, she smiled, nodded her head and told me in her raspy Rhode Island Italian voice how to roast a red pepper, add wine vinegar and slivered garlic to create exactly what I’d described.

Always on the same stool, drinking coffee, lots of coffee – free refills, y'see – he’d call me Miss England . He never left a tip until the shift before my final solo trip to England. When he left I found a crisp $10 bill beside his coffee spoon. Still makes me smile.

Vilma, our pretty British exchange student, was more mature than I, and the boys noticed that. After mom said Vilma could not see The Exorcist with one of those boys , Vilma requested a new host family. When it was my turn to visit England, her mother refused to host me. Note : If you've read my journal entries of this time, you know this is not the complete story. I've removed my involvement . Oops.

Firstborn daughter in a family of 5 depression-era children, my mom grew up too fast. Engaged by 16, married by 18 and a mother by 20 she never really learned who she was. At 70 she’s stuck as nursemaid to my tantrum-prone, dementia-ridden father . Will she ever get a chance?

Although he looks like he’d fit in more comfortably in a garden , guarding the flowers, than in a building, Larry seems at ease in most social situations. He loves to eat and to treat his friends and friends of friends to fine meals. Most importantly, he makes my mom happy.

A truck driver, Karen ’s husband, Mike, parked his 18-wheeler in front of his house. When Karen was pregnant he rode my brother ’s skateboard and broke his foot. He served in Vietnam but didn’t like to discuss it. I understood when, while babysitting, I saw some photographs he’d taken in Vietnam.

Next-door neighbor to my parents when I was a teenager, Karen reminded me of the eldest daughter in the movie version of Fiddler on the Roof. I babysat her children and had a slight crush on her husband . I mostly remember our girl talks while she ironed in the breezeway.

Elementary school classmate, Kathy often smelled like garbage. I don’t think I was ever mean to her, but I shunned her along with everyone else. We both ended up at the outcasts table in junior high, along with Chris , Pam and Cindy . We weren’t all that different after all.

Librarian by profession and by nature, Jeremy ’s father, Jack, took me on literary tours of England including the Brontë Parsonage and Watership Down . The best by far was C. S. Lewis country where we stood outside the Kilns then traveled to Holy Trinity Church where Lewis worshiped and is buried .

David’s mom, Mary Ellen, always had a great sense of humor. She was very supportive of me as well as David’s other teachers. Mary Ellen and I became good friends the years I was David’s resource teacher. Recently she sent me pictures of the inside of David’s fourth-grade lunch box.

I called him Johnny Yuma . I don’t know if he was a rebel . He was my boyfriend. We were the same age -- Three or four years old. I don’t know where he lived Did he go wandering When he quit playing with me? Apologies to Johnny Cash -- For this silliness.

HONK! What’s your problem? I’m not turning left until it is safe to do so. HONK!HONK! I refuse to jeopardize my life so you can get home a minute earlier. HONK!HONK!HONK! Congratulations, that’s the first time I’ve given the finger to a fellow driver. HONK!HONK!HONK!HONK! Ha! I’ve turned. You’re stuck.

One of the small group of regulars at most Dan Bern concerts I attended, Marc could be found behind his video camera, recording the shows for posterity. He was a true friend of Dan’s and genuinely cared about his well being. Haven’t seen him in a while; hope he’s OK.

Early on I really liked Neil. He was friendly and could talk to teenagers. Soon, though, I saw his other side and the last time I saw him he was in his underwear screaming profanities at my brother to stop shooting off firecrackers at our family house by the lake.

Tall, attractive with perfectly styled hair, Elizabeth is the poster image for Bethesda moms. Trained as a lawyer but a stay-at-home-mom, she’s been room-parent, PTA president and Girl Scout Cookie mom. Her daughters are just as perfect. Our small talk, when we meet, seems punctuated with daggers. Why is that?

After Uncle Quay made a pass at me at a family gathering one Christmas, I both feared and hated him. I dreamed last night I told him how angry I still was, these 33 years later. He’s no longer here to tell though. He took his own life years ago.

I barely remember Kim, although my mom remembers her well. She felt silly holding Kim’s hand instead of mine when we went shopping or for walks, but I vociferously insisted Kim walk between us. We must have looked pretty funny – a mother and child holding on to nothing but air.

I most likely met David’s cousin, Pam, at the “outcasts” lunch table in junior high. She moved away soon after she started high school – to some remote town in Northern Minnesota. She married early (a fireman), had two daughters and a nursing career. I wonder why we quit writing letters.

I had a crush on Gary ever since I saw him at the pinewood derby . He knew it too. My friend Pam volunteered to keep an eye on him during study hall but they ended up going steady. He eventually asked me out but he skated with everyone but me.

To the woman in the brown car: 1. You don’t have a permit to park there 2. You hit my car, not once, but three times 3. When my husband moved his car to let you park easier, you didn’t acknowledge it. Did the rest of your day go better?

Armed with only a needle (sterilized by placing it in a candle flame until it became red-hot), a raw potato half, an ice cube and some rubbing alcohol, Debbie pierced my ears in my attic bedroom one winter day. “Will it hurt?” I asked. “Not much,” she replied. She lied.

Toothless, ancient and heavily accented, Swede was a regular visitor at my grandparents’ home in Chetek, Wisconsin. He trapped, fished and foraged. He knew poisonous mushrooms from the safe variety, and taught my grandma the difference. It was said he was a recluse, but he seemed too friendly for that.

Mother and daughter, both named Yates, shared the house across the street. The younger, morbidly and dependently obese; the older, aging but resolutely independent. When the daughter died, the mother developed a slight spring in her step. She had shed the weight on her shoulders in more ways than one.

A one-time professional singer, Freda lost her singing voice due to an infection. She lived next door to the house we rented in Alexandria, Virginia. Despite being an octogenarian when I knew her, she had a child-like quality about her that some people found somewhat annoying. I didn’t really mind.