Five-minute Friday. Lisa Jo’s prompt this week: She.
She walked into the living room after school wearing her cape, marched over to the Little Tykes chalkboard, and announced, “I will now perform some math for you.”
She observed the neighbor kids playing front yard football and commented, “A swarm of boys.”
When she was a relief parent at a teen boys’ group home and was driving them in the van, she would play a version of Cash Cab, except the questions were what she thought should be common cultural knowledge (“Who was Vincent Van Gogh?”) and the prize might be getting to choose that night’s dinner entree.
When she was learning to read and the main thoroughfare became a road of marvels, she was tickled to read CAR-MART because she took it as a pun on Wal-Mart.
She has always understood the narrative arc of a day and once asked if we could do something to redeem the day.
After she had been back for a while from her summer in Europe, she asked, “Did I tell you about the night I jumped over fire?”
She was the literature specialist on her Quiz Bowl team, and named her blue betta fish Holden Caulfield.
She has met Aggies near the Tower of Terror in Disney World, in an Internet cafe in Amsterdam, and at Durty Nelly’s pub in County Clare, Ireland, because she was wearing the tribal garb.
She didn’t know she was going to slide into third in that softball game until she was doing it.
She keeps her cake decorating tools in a tackle box.
She hugs like she means it.