Ren's Story: Countin' Quatahs (Opening)

I am putting this paragraph in my blog again, because it is so funny, and when I am down it always gives me a smile. Maybe it is because Ren was 13 when she wrote it. Maybe because she's my daughter, or even because I WANT it to be good, so I imagine it is. The story in its full form is one of the oldest blog entries on here...you can find it if you want to read the rest. I was taken to remember this morning the quote, "It's rude not to do what you are paid to." Probably because I wanted to read today---and not Dr. Seuss. Still, I had a great morning teaching about Igloos and watching the kids giggle as they power launched themselves on me. There are highs and lows to every-day, certainly.

Well anyway, here is Ren's narrative:

I’m thinking about all the quarters Aunt Muriel gave me, as I pick cat hair off my black dress. The cat was actually Aunt Muriel’s. It’s old and lanky, and has a purr like a broken airplane motor, but it’s a sweet cat. My parents had a huge fit over the fact that we inherited the him, complaining that we hadn’t spent all those Christmases at her unkempt house for a cat. The house really was rough around the edges. She filled it with grimy artifacts, and the electricity only worked (mostly in the downstairs) every other month or so. One of the artifacts was a grotesque Cuban bust of a man, except Aunt Muriel had added one of those George Washington wigs on top of it. It had a huge crack down the forehead, which I thought made it look curiously grotesque, but she called a mark of character--heroic character. She had named it Pelirrojo, which is spanish for red-head and on the many times Aunt Muriel had pulled me into the living room and sat me on the couch (while leaving a trail of spilled wine all along the way) she had patted it there--right on the crack like they were close friends. She always handed me a Ziploc baggie full of quarters (some Canadian which I thought was a rip off) to lure me to sit but would also promise that if I saved them, she’d take me somewhere some day to spend them. Right next to her on the coffee table Pelirrojo sat and right across from him, I always sat. I wondered sometimes if his head cracked from having all her stories shoved into it over the years, but still I pretended listen to her. After all, she paid well, and it’s rude not to do what you’re paid to do.