I am so fortunate to be able to do this.
Today was a wonderful day.
Ooops, there is that word again. "Wonderful"
this should be called "Superlative abuse "
---however----
I do find wonderful the correct word.
admirable, amazing, astonishing, astounding, awe-inspiring, awesome, brilliant, cool, divine, dynamite, enjoyable, excellent, extraordinary, fabulous, fantastic, fine, groovy, incredible, magnificent, marvelous, miraculous, outstanding, peachy, phenomenal, pleasant, pleasing, prime, remarkable, sensational, something else, staggering, startling, strange, stupendous, super, superb, surprising, swell, terrific, too much, tremendous, unheard-of, wondrous
nope... tis definitly wonderful that I mean.
This is today's story from my wordsmith:
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He was a little bit of a thing and tagged along everywhere with his 2 elder brothers.
His father was in Her Majesty's army in India and retired to private civillian life only to find there was little call for Edwardian gents with cavalry skills.
The family went from a life of plenty to living in a single room of his Aunt's attic.
Noone slept in a bed and they counted themselves fortunate to have blankets.
The boys found a great respite in the Boy Scouts.
The panjamdrum of the neighbourhood was a Mrs. Prescott, still hoop-skirted and ramrod straight. She would allow the Scouts the freedom of her Estate and come out of the parlour onto the spacious veranda with apples or sweets to reward the winners of games and contests.
Frank was a very small boy, obviously too young to be in this group, however his mind was bright and sparkling and his enthusiasm boundless. He had won more than a few of the word games and distinguished himself enough for Mrs. Prescott to pay close personal attention to him. As the grande dame approached the little fellow, she noticed he had a black eye.
Drawing herself up to her imperious maximum height she looked around at the group of scouts
and then asked Frank:
"My boy, who gave you that black eye?"
He replied without hesitation"
"Noone gave it to me Mrs. Prescott, I had to fight for it."
Years later he found himself on a day off in the old neighbourhood. He lounged against the Estate walls and then, overcome with curiousity scaled the wall and looked in on the grounds.
A maid was just exiting the henhouse at the moment and looked over to see what weed this was growing down the wall.
"Do you know if Mrs. Prescott still lives here?" Frank asked.
"Yes she certainly does and get off of there and come and see her."
"Do you think she will want to see me?" Frank asked.
"Oh yes."
Frank followed the maid into the Manorhouse and there in the parlour sat the redoubtable Mrs. Prescott. She took one look at him and pointed her finger.
"I remember you!"
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What a delight it is to be in Frank's company.
Frank recently turned 96 years old. A Master in the art of living.
So many memories he shares with me. And indeed us all.
He always tells me to write about him if I wish and to use his real name.
I can't do that without endangering the privacy of everyone I write about.
HOWEVER, his name really is Frank.
The only real name used in my ponderings.
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