Gratitude

Hi, my name is Reet, and this is my story called “The Value of Money.”

Hello, everyone. I have a story to share with you today. It is a personal story about my very early years, around actually 4 years old.

Growing up in a small town named Stratford, one of my earliest memories was being allowed to walk, myself, to a nearby grocery store, about 400 feet from our doorstep.

I had all my pennies and a couple nickels saved in my piggy bank.

Out of the blue came the hoot of an owl.

Sometimes this happens in my back yard. Sometimes in my neighborhood. Sometimes I think it follows me.

It was a very pleasant surprise - three long, slow, low hoots. A pause, then it repeated. A pause again, then it repeated again.

It calls up in me the feeling of the deep woods. Where there are wise animals, knowing old, huge oaks, and the feel of soft, moist dirt underfoot.

The woods are alive with mystery and quiet surprise. At any moment there could appear a deer, a chipmunk, or a giant, black crow.

For more information about Amla Mehta and her work please visit https://www.amlaspeaks.com

Grandpa always wore a three piece suit with a white Oxford shirt. In the heat of summer, he removed the vest. In the winter, when he went on his daily walks, he added a topcoat and a fedora to his outfit.

Two blocks from his house was a small grocery store where my brother Mike worked as a manager.

Every day, grandpa, in his late eighties, walked to the store to visit Mike and to pick up an item or two.

Introduction by Phil

I fell in love with what a GPS could do, the first time I saw an article about one in Popular Science. This song celebrates whoever invented them.

   The actual song itself is available only in spoken form, as requested by Philip.

I was born into a prepared place here,
Where geniuses leave their marks,
That everything is better still.

Thank you you who first sung a song.
Perhaps the birds led the way.

Thank you you who first baked a pot from clay.
Perhaps fiery stones led the way.

Thank you you who first made a word.
Perhaps the call of sheep led the way.

Thank you you who first picked berries and nuts as food.
Perhaps you watched the deer and squirrel.

Thank you you who first made a wooden spoon.
Perhaps you saw rainwater gather in a cleft of wood.

I love walking thru fall leaves.

Not just walking thru them, but really kicking them up into the air, like wanting to see them fall again and again – to float gently down, swaying this way and that, living a little poetry for a minute, something myriad generations before had admired and enjoyed.

I love sunflowers. I mean, here is a flower that grows bigger than me. It is gigantic. And the seeds are so visible, so wildly bountiful, and so orderly arranged.

I see them growing in the community garden, and I admire their towering, poetic, lilting stance.

There are two local farms that plant thousands of sunflowers – acres and acres - and let you walk among them. It is breath-taking. So many circles of purple-black with a rim of yellow against a backdrop of greens and a light blue sky – like nature is looking with 10,000 eyes upon the world.

We had been saving for a sunporch for a long time. Finally, we came up with enough for two fellows who could just work on the project after their actual jobs. We grabbed this golden opportunity.

When the project began, we were excited, taking pictures step by step. It was predicted to be completed in six months.

However, something happened that no one had predicted or expected: the COVID-19 Virus came to Connecticut. It seemed the world changed, overnight. Our windows and other materials that were to be delivered were not arriving. It was a difficult time for all.

Introduction by Phil

If you listen very closely, the souvenirs that you gathered over your lifetimes and placed in your home might whisper their history to you.
Can you hear them?

   The actual song itself is available only in spoken form, as requested by Philip.

Response by John

I love that last GEM recorded by Phil, entitled Something Says You’re Home.