Finally Friday

I say that while in all actuality this week has flown by. It's been awhile since I wrote anything so I thought that while I wait for some reports to process I would add an entry. I've been reading an excellent book called "Margarettown" and the part I read last night made me think a lot about stories that we are told as children.

When I was very little (probably 5 or 6) I asked my father how he knew that my mother was going to have me. He said that a little bird told him and at the young an age I took it literally. To this day (even though I understand now what he meant) I can picture him driving down Franklin St. in his old brown Oldmobile. The windows are down and it's a sunny day so my father has his arm out the window some. While stopped at a stoplight a little yellow bird lands on his arm and tells him that he will soon have a baby daughter.

My father also used to tell me the rhyme "There was a little girl, who had a little curl, right in the middle of her forehead, and when she was good she was very very good and when she was bad she was horrid". It wasn't until I learned that a very famous poet (whose name escapes my mind) wrote it, that I realized that it wasn't made up especially for me.