Her Name is Betty.

Yesterday I spent the afternoon with one of my best friends, Betty Tucker.  Betty is 88 years old and one of the most beautiful people I have ever known.  She lives independently in an apartment that has become over the years my safe place to fall.  She has told me such wonderful stories about her life and think about it...she has lived through many monumental events in our history.  The coolest part of all is that she can describe the dress she wore at her 7th birthday party and tell you word for word about the day WW2 ended and everyone ran out into the streets of Kansas City. She has never been in a hospital except to have children.
 She has listened to me talk about my joys and has also been the recipient of my struggles and concerns.  She has a fabulous sense of humor, a great laugh, and a love for reading like I have never seen.
A couple of years ago I gave her my kindle that had been replaced by more current electronics.  You would think I had given her a million dollars.  I constantly put books on there for her and she reads a couple a week probably. She loves books about the Amish and then will turn around and tell me how much she loved a current murder mystery.  She is pure joy to be around and I cannot express how much she means to me.
Back to yesterday.  I stopped by to take her a "real book" that I had just finished.  We had our usual visit then decided we would read awhile.  So with a cup of coffee and a small tray of cookies, we read, each in our own book.  Sometimes we would stop to tell the other what was going on, or share some writing that we thought was unique.  I probably was there for two hours in a perfectly peaceful

setting with such a great friend.  I am so lucky.
Betty knows all about my family:  Ron, Robert and Mandy, John and Salome, Lindsay and Josh.  She calls Alex her "grand-dog" and sends him a card now and then. She knows about my friends, my trips and especially, my students at UNT.  She worked in the bookstore at UNT for many years.
 Betty writes us a card or letter nearly every week.  She truly has kept the art of letter writing alive.  I always look forward to what she has to say.  It reminds me of letters that I used to get from my daddy.  He would write me a letter every Sunday night to tell me what was going on in Beebe.
Anyway, I feel that a blog is a place to put the thoughts that are on your mind at the time. Anytime I think of Betty, my heart is warmed.