The Kindness of Neighbors

My buddy, Rita, is 81 years old.She is my neighbor directly across the street.

When I hang with Rita, I feel like I’m home. It’s good having an old school neighbor. They call it as they see it and 99.9% of the time they are right.

She has come to love Kasia in her own way. I love her for that. A few times Rita and I talk about stuff and she has refreshed the common sense in my head.

Meanwhile, I am drinking a hot cup of tea with a miniature cinnamon bun she bought me down from a spot up north that we both enjoy.

Thank God for good friends!

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Seventeen

I was one of those fortunate girls.

I loved my Dad and he loved me. Don’t get me wrong- he loved all of us, but Dad and I were buddies. My brothers weren’t really into actively following sports, so he was happy when he found a willing disciple in me. We spent a lot of good times together. At the bottom of this blog post, I have a picture of Dad in the car when we were at Penn State for a game.

It’s seventeen years ago today that I lost my Dad. I remember,in many of our talks, how he would tell me about life after he would be gone. I believed him and always kept it in my head. You only have one Dad and no amount of time can replace the hole left behind in your heart when he leaves.He didn’t tell me that, but it’s what I learned.

Miss you terribly,Dad, and will love you forever. Kiss Mom for me.