A blessed Thanksgiving to Hole News and Facebook friends. We’ll return soon to Vintage Valley and see how Geoffrey Strom survived Miss Beth.
Meanwhile, my Wednesday needs reporting. I went shopping! Really: serious shopping. Through the canny maneuvering of the girl from 313 and our driver, Eileen Hagen, I came away with $304 in merchandise for $104.
I returned home pooped and aglow, glad to have that over with for another year. I put my feet up to ponder how incredibly blest I find myself. Then, as happens so often, memory interrupted, carrying me back, ticking off the years. I recalled friends who blessed me, my heritage, my career. Then the ghosts: people I failed.
A dozen faces popped up, young and old. Some had come to me voluntarily, some I hunted out. All were in trouble, one way or another. Being incredibly smart back then, I scolded and told them exactly what to do. Rarely did they do it. Refusing my vast authority, I wrote them off. They had done bad things, and I lost them.
I cried; not the first time. They needed an ear, not a scolding; a friend, not an authoritarian pastor or camp leader. They needed love, the greatest persuader there is. Love may not have worked immediately, but we would have parted friends.
The older ones are likely dead now; the younger ones–how do they remember me? But they had done bad things! Yes, and so had I.
You understand my tears. Too soon old; too late smart.
Old Grandpa Lloyd