A Monument

Recently, the long and winding road of life took me to where I grew up. We saw several monuments along the way.

The St. Louis Arch is something I marvel at each time I see it. Regally it stands there, against the wind, the heat and the cold. It's a monument, and a shelter (you can go inside), or a look out place (you can go up) across the Mississippi River and the city of St. Louis.

Then there is my first grade teacher. I haven't seen since our wedding and I moved away. At 93 years of age, regally she stands there, a monument to teaching and learning. When my mother put her hands under my little wings and with a gentle fluff said, "There, there now, it's time for first grade", Mrs. B is the one who became the "shelter" away from home, the new "look out tower" of learning which began the ascent to the wide wide world beyond the comfort of home.

The other day in her eyes, I saw the years roll back like a DVD on rewind. We hugged each other. I felt my love for her swell up into a huge lump in my throat that pushed tears from my eyes! She's little now, and I'm big! How does the passage of time do that? Mrs. B is still a monument to me! With a twinkle in her eye, she said, "Drop me a line, and I'll write back." Okay Mrs. B, I will.