I am not a fan.

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This morning, I was in the shower in this new home of ours. It’s a shower for which I am not familiar. I was alone in this enormously old home, the only sound being an occasional gurgle in the pipes from an overactive sump pump. As I am scrubbing my hair, suds in my eyes, I feel someone touch my back.

Slight turn of stomach, resist the urge to scream, not able to open my eyes, and then pretend I don’t feel someone touching my back. Nope. Yep. Someone or something is touching my back.

When I rinsed the soap from my eyes and gathered the courage to turn around quick all ready to karate chop the intruder, here was the intruder:

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See his spindly arm all sticking out there refusing to play nice? I am not a fan.

But I am a fan of being clean and of having a shower instead of just a bathtub or a sink or a hose.


Funny how when you are in the middle of city life with Subways and McDonalds and Chipotles and Paneras and Taco Bells and Wendys and Sonics and Pizza Huts, a plain ol’ sandwich just doesn’t sound good at all.

I am not a fan of a plain ‘ol sandwich with nothing but lunch meat and cheese.

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But when you are in the middle of small town life with nothing but the small town grocery store, the local dollar store, and a convenience store, and your husband calls and says he is going to come home for lunch to enjoy a little bit of the beautiful fall day with his wife, there is almost nothing better than a plain ‘ol sandwich with nothing but lunch meat and cheese on a paper plate, eaten on the porch in the peaceful quiet sunshine of a late September day. I am a fan of that kind of sandwich, for sure.


Dirty floors and windows. Not a fan.

But when dirty floors and windows are dirty because of little mouths and fingers, or dirty because of work being done outside for a new yard and dirty comes inside at the end of a long day, I am a fan all the day long.


Not having enough room in the backseat for the youngest sister to sit. Not a fan.

Sitting on my oldest brother’s comfortable and inviting lap because he never minded and never complained, definitely a fan.

Having a birthday and feeling a little forgotten. Not a fan.

Always receiving a birthday card from oldest brother who learned the art from our Mama, plug me in and turn me to full speed because I am a fan.

Today is oldest brother’s birthday. Steve, you are not forgotten, you are loved by me, and you have a fan, brand Rhonda.

I am a fan = I am grateful.


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