Saturday, September 27, 2014

Online Scrapbook for Clarissa

I'm turning this stale old knitting blog into an online scrapbook especially for my friend Clarissa to read whenever she wants to. It is about a teacher I had for part of second grade and all of third: I shall call her Miss R. To me in those days, she was everything beautiful, wise, gracious, and lovely. Plus she smelled good. And we loved her clothes.

Once third grade was over, I never saw her again. She did write me a letter...but that's another story. Right now, I'm going to get started with the story of how Miss R. came to my house for lunch.

Originally, it must have been soneone else's idea. I must have seen Miss R. strolling off at noontime with Calina or Sandy or Melissa, and thought "Wait--she's having lunch with a student? You can do that???" Well, I didn't lose any time asking my mother if I could invite Miss R. to lunch at OUR house. And she said yes, and suggested a date the following week, and Miss R. accepted.

Oh! The day could not arrive fast enough! But at last it did, and as I scurried out the front door in the morning, I called back over my shoulder, "Don't forget--Miss R. is coming to lunch here today!"

My mother looked horrified--she looked askance at my oldest sister, Mary, who must have been in high school at that time. I can replay that moment in my head and of course NOW it's clear that she had completely forgotten. But at the time I thought very little of it--just scampered along and waited out the morning till lunch dismissal when I proudly accompanied Miss R. out of the schoolgrounds, right a block, left a block, right a block to my house.

I had hoped she would wear her tartan circle skirt with the black turtleneck; she didn't, but she still looked both lovely and professional in a Chanel-style suit. I have no idea what we chatted about along the way, but she had a way of making conversation easy even for shy and tongue-tied children.

It's a wonder the whole thing wasn't a disaster. The odds were astronomically against my having remembered to remind my mother about the date--I still had perfect confidence in the omniscience of adults. In truth, Mom was rather absent-minded and I took after her. But disaster was averted: I did remind her, and immediately after that horrified glance, my mother and sister must have leaped into action.

When I opened the front door for Miss R., the house looked perfect, the table was laden with our linen, our china, and our crystal--cloth napkins even. And the menu--hamburgers and french fries! Well, I can tell you, no restaurant featuring china, crystal, and cloth napkins ever served better hamburgers and french fries than my mother did that day. It was scrumptious! And naturally, Miss R. was sunny and gracious and at ease. She said to my mother, "You can be my mom any day!"

After eating, we still had a little time before we had to walk back to school. Normally, after finishing my PB&J or tuna fish sandwich, I'd watch part of Jeopardy. But this time, Miss R. asked if I still had the art work I had done for her that year. Oh yes--and I showed her the way downstairs where my paintings were stored. She looked them all over again and made me happy all over again with her praise: "Now that was a turkey that really LOOKED like a turkey!" "This angel is just beautiful. The black outline around her looks just right."

And then the long-awaited luncheon was over; there was still the walk back to savor, and to wish that one could walk a little slower and make it last... And the looks of the other third graders in the schoolyard as they saw that I was the lucky one today, who got to be hostess to Miss R. If I only knew what day this happened, I'd celebrate it every year with hamburgers and french fries on my best china. But then again, there are so many things that remind me of her, maybe any day is a good day to celebrate Miss R.




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