"Fools rush in where angels fear to tread."
Someone paused - and I rushed in instead, -
And dived head-long into a pool of swirls:
Teaching Scripture to some teenage girls.
I haven't mentioned my teaching job this year, (1) because I haven't been much of a success at it and (2) because you would wonder what became of the Juniors. Since one of my readers inquired about the Juniors, maybe others are wondering if I got fired. So I'd better explain. The long grind at Warner & Swasey's caused heart fatigue. When it didn't clear up in a few months, I very reluctantly gave up my job, and that grand woman whom I called my "co-superintendent" took over the job. She is doing such fine work that the position is hers, I am sure, as long as she can see her way clear to continue.
But how I miss those little Juniors! I miss them more after teaching in Senior High. If these girls had not been mine 'way back in the Junior department, when I was teaching there, I would have been scared to death. As it is, the job of teaching the prophets to 15-year-olds is a staggering one. I have had all the conceit taken out of me. There are two girls in the class who are born hecklers. They love to impale me on the barbecue spit, and watch me roast. I was very distraught at first, until I learned that they do that to every teacher. When I cool off, I realize that they are a great challenge - and a great help. I don't DARE tell them to write to their congressmen (to try to correct an evil) unless I, their teacher, write to my congressman. There is no such thing as bluffing one's way. I dare not make a careless statement, or one that cannot be backed by proof. The old adage hung on a bedroom wall at A.J.W. Robinson's still rings true: "Every knock is a boost; every knocker a booster."
With every union striking so,
We need a local UNO (Leave the "s" off "Nations")
At "Breakfast in Hollywood" there was something stewing,
When one of Tom's guests was James R. Ewing,
I imagine that a good many of you are Tom Brenneman fans - and listen five days a week to "Breakfast in Hollywood" at 11 a.m. Mother Taylor rarely misses it. We were quite thrilled today to hear, from amongst the Service men, "Saltsburg, Pa ... James R. Ewing." I didn't catch his rating. I hope he is on his way home.
Our knowledge is whittled clear down to a taper,
Because we are "still yet" without a newspaper.
Deadline Day (Sunday) - No time to write couplets or anything else, for we have had a big wedding in our family - Phillippa's daughter, Gladys, whose beloved went overseas three years ago last August. He came home again last November. He got a job in his home town, Shelby, and the only available "house" - a former American Legion hall, which two strong, willing hands and two gentle, artistic ones will transform into a home. It was a beautiful church wedding - one to which neighbors and acquaintances shyly asked, "Is it an open wedding." "May we come?" And of course the answer was always "Yes! Yes!" Everyone wanted to wish well the future of a couple so utterly devoted through the years of separation. Gladys was a radiant and lovely bride, and Elwood the poised and stalwart groom - as steadfast as the Rock of Gibralter. Mother Taylor, who is incurably romantic, has been trotting down to Phillippa's home every day for two weeks - to see every new day's arrival of gifts - and to winnow and rake all the latest news.
Now it is closing time. Next week I'll make Virgil my secretary - for he won't have much else to do. He along with 749,999 other U.S. steel employees, is laid off on account of the strike - much against his will.
Florence B. Taylor
Next - 2/14/46 - Bedlam with too many living at 1337 Plainfield Rd
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