The Rock Wall

I talked to a cousin of mine in Texas on Monday. She had taken a small vacation to Florida with some friends and stayed with Adrian in St. Francisville on her way back. She called me Sunday as I was about to leave for church so I called her on Monday to finish our conversation. She had exactly 18 minutes to talk before she arrived at her volunteer job.

She has a Master’s in teaching English as a second language. So, every week she volunteers her time. She told me that when she started a few years ago she had a classroom full of Afghan women who could not read their own language and didn’t have any idea what their own alphabet looked like.

There is no grade for the students in these classes and they can come and do when they think they are ready. She said her best student so far has been a lady lawyer from Venezuela who knew to get to class a little early, sit on the front row, and have all the class material ready.

My cousin has had and is still having an interesting life.

Kenny found out last week that one of his oldest and best fishing buddies had died in October of last year. Dan Hare dearly loved to fish, but he was also an artist.  Every Christmas we’d get a hand painted card. He painted a bayou scene for me years ago. It is in my kitchen.