A few things I love

Unfortunately things have gotten really busy around here and I haven’t been able to share stories as often as I would like to. So this will be another round of reader’s digest versions of different things going on.

Blenheim

The house I live in is named Blenheim, after the Blenheim Palace in Oxfordshire. The original may have been the birthplace of Sir. Winston Churchill, but my Blenheim is a house of healing. Everyone who lives there or ever has lived there has grown in ways they never could have imagined.

The stories of the miracles that have taken place within those walls are astounding. Ask me some time and I’ll share some of them with you. For me it has been a place of friendship and understanding. I have grown to recognize certain talents and abilities I possess and how to put them to work. I have learned how to listen to the pains of another and offer help in practical ways. And most amusing, I have learned how to more honestly speak my mind.

Auntie Christine told me yesterday that she thinks I am a woman who has her head screwed on right. I was very flattered, but I cannot take all, or hardly any, of the credit. At each stage of my life I have been presented with opportunities to learn and grow. Blenheim has been one of the most treasured of those opportunities.

Chivalry

Guess what, it’s not dead. I am treated like a perfect princess by every guy around. The best part is that their manners are so natural, as if walking through a bush in order to open the car door for a girl was as easy and necessary as breathing.

Besides opening doors I have grown accustomed to people standing when I enter a room, boys walking on the down slope of stairs just in case I fall, and there is always a hand offered if I need help hopping down or stepping up a little height. My favorite is probably when someone holds a jacket open for me so I can put it on easier.

So now that I’m all used to these gentlemanly ways I’m going to be sorely disappointed when I get home and have to do everything for myself again. Drat.

Bus

When you ride the bus every day you start to see some regulars. I don’t know the actual names of any of mine, so here are the names I’ve given them.

Corn man

Scary Bus driver man

Mr. Helper

Too-old-for-pigtails (pigtails for short)

Steve Biko

Blind couple

Fish eyes

Man voice

Talented

I’m not really talented, at least not in an outward way. I can hold my own in soccer, I can play a couple notes on the flute, and I can sing in a choir; but the things I am actually good at don’t really have a good venue to be showcased in. Not a problem.

Being that I myself am not the performer type, I am completely enchanted by those who are. There have been quite a few nights since being here that the TV has been turned off and everyone in the group will stop to listen to one person sing, then another will play the piano, then another will do a monologue. It’s the most wonderful thing. I love these mini talent shows.

I have decided that I want to have a musical home. I want a home where the family gathers around each other rather than the television.

Good food, good music, open conversation, and love. I think that’s a pretty decent recipe for success.

I’m sorry that these have all been little half stories and the true detail of them is missing. All the more reason to hang out with me next time you get a chance. That way I can give you the full story in complete Jari fashion with hands in the air and volume a little louder than appreciated. I even promise to get sidetracked and end up telling you three or four stories instead of just one.