A Floor of Stories

New entry way to the front door of my friends.

    Slide your foot across a door jam and you might step onto a floor of stories.  A high school friend and his wife have a floor like that.  Bob and Kristin are story-makers.  Bob teaches in the journalism department at the University of Nevada and Kristin is a retired teacher with a knack for telling stories.  There was rarely a moment of silence during my stay!  It made no difference which floor we crossed.  We had so much fun telling each other stories.  

Kristin and Bob ( the latter being absent, but present.)

       Even the dogs seemed to tell each other stories.  Dodger welcomed Pup to share his floors.  They were equally at home, running to touch noses in the morning and laying around together on Dodger and Bob’s favorite chair.  They acted like old friends.

     Kristin and I made pies together and Bob prepared steaks.  Cooking with friends is lovely.  Food of any sort can start stories.  Without reading the recipe thoroughly, I poured out the peach juice before realizing I was supposed to add it back in later.  We substituted orange juice and the pie came out even better.  The second pie was a cherry pie, one of Bob’s favorites.  I used to eat cherry pie every night in college; my food plan allowed me to do that.  Hurrah for pies and Mother's Day flowers!      

Orange Peach Pie and Fresh Cherry Pie  (Photo credit: Bob)

      Paul, who is Kristin and Bob’s son, sent the flowers in the photo.  We are two moms blessed with good motivated kids. Both of our kids remembered their moms on Mother’s Day.

     While visiting Reno I wandered around to places where I remember making stories.   The California Building in these photos stands in Idlewild Park. 

     Wuffle was a childhood friend, whose father was responsible for this building.  We would often go and skate with Wuffle on the shiny wooden floors.  (Maybe this is where my love of trees reflecting on wooden floors was first nurtured.)  Wuffle.  What a silly name you must be thinking.  That is another story.  I could not pronounce “r’s” or “s’s” as a child.  Hence, Russell became Wuffle.  “R’s” and “s’s” are two of the sounds which are often the last ones to be pronounced properly.  There was no rush to correct my pronunciation until I was in the first grade and my teacher’s name was "Miss Smith".  Or “Miff Miff” according to me.  I recall her rushing me to a speech therapist post haste.  See how a door leads to stories?     

     Bob and I went to kindergarten together!  This is the door to the Regina Marie Apartments, where I lived at the time.  Bob and I sat on the steps of McKinley School to have our school photo taken.  Our room was down the stairs behind a heavy door.  Kindergarten taught me how to master the twenty-minute nap, something that I excelled at my whole life.  My kindergarten teacher called my parents for a conference.  She was afraid that I was depressed because I only painted with black paint.  I have always loved black.  I am sure that she was mistaken, her version a fiction. 

 

     Who used the front door at Reno High School?  Not me.  I was destined to be a student of the side door.  The parking lot was on the side and I rode to school with friends who had cars.  We had good friends then.  We were sure that we would never loose those friendships.  I do still have at least a handful of them.  And Bob is back!  Good to come back to Reno, a city of long-time friends.  A place of stories behind doors.