Soccer cleats and sensible pumps...with a makeup bag and purse thrown into the mix. There's also a very sensible but very unstylish backpack that's hard to see in the background that holds everything from snack bars to deoderant to a change of fresh underwear when life demands it. And believe me--life demands it.

This image struck me as funny from my perch on the bed. My I'm-still-recovering-from-a-weekend-of-sports-and-ibuprofen-ain't-doin-the-trick-perch. This is my life right now though. Haphazard at times with a curious blend of footwear and lifestyles. But I love it. The fast-paced world of tv journalism mixed with intense athletic sports that helps to maintain my sanity and my weight. I'm every woman. Definitely not a '78 Chaka Khan version, but more like a 21st century version of a woman who wants to look good and feel good.

Now granted, right now I don't feel so good because of the hits I've taken on the field this weekend, but by tomorrow I'll be up and running in my sensible heels trying to change the world one Listen Up TV show at a time. I guess in keeping with my "mixing" and "blending" analogies, I could also say that when it comes to my life in progress, I'm just "shaken and not stirred." Not that clever, but come on--you have to admit it's cute.

For those of you concerned about my dusty hardwood floors and even more worried about shoes not being put where they belong, not to worry. Sunday is my cleanup day for the week. I'll get to it....Sunday also happens to be my reflective day of the week. Hence these few paragraphs that turned a private smile about my clash of worlds into a now public one :)

---From Walt Whitman's "Song of the Open Road"

AFOOT and light-hearted I take to the open road, Healthy, free, the world before me, The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.
Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune, Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing, Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms, Strong and content I travel the open road
...

---And the final word goes to...Paul

"Hold firmly to the word of life; then, on the day of Christ’s return, I will be proud that I did not run the race in vain and that my work was not useless. "

Phillipians 2:16

rlr

More recollections en route to Florida...



It had been some time since I had ridden a prop plane and I laughed as I saw the flight before me leaving in one. I thought to myself, "suckers." It takes enough faith to believe in the science of jet engines to keep you lifted in the air, but to subject yourself to the mercy of a few propellers just whirlin' away for all they got to get from point A to point B, to me it just tempting fate.

As they called for boarding to my Philly connection, I glanced out the window only to find that I too would be that "sucker" tempting fate. Buffalo to Philly in a prop plane seemed like quite the jaunt for such a wee machine, but I was seated across from a pilot in transit and felt mildy comforted by his presence. I gave him a weak smile and fastened my seat belt to a snugger than usual fit.

The flight lasted a little over an hour without much to write home about. However, I am sure that if planes could pant, ours did once it shuttered to the ground...

What was worth writing home about I guess, was my observation of the pilot-passenger, seated at the window. He was like a kid taking off from the jetway for the first time. His face was glued to the window pane and it remained there for much of the duration of the flight. His eyes constantly to the skies and ground made me quietly laugh at his boyish enthusiasm. This is a man who flies daily for a living! I began to admire this grown-up in his uniform with his pilot's cap resting in his lap, relishing those seemingly mundane moments that we frequent flyers often take for granted. I felt a stinging conviction to remember to live my life that way. A nose pressed against the glass kinda way...

Sometimes I like to think I'm too old when I'm not, and I choose Aisle over Window in life. But thankfully, my little toy plane arrived safely, which gives me another opportunity to make a seat arrangement for this flight and the next....


rlr

Florida '08 trip as I recall it...Part One

Day One-7am. Sleepless in Buffalo. Bags in my hands, bags under my eyes. Not quite the romantic comedy one would hope for. Through my dreamlike haze I do remember being grateful for my pedicure as I revealed my stubby, shoe-less toes through security...I also remember being peeved just seconds later that there was now airport funk on the bottom of my previously clean feet. Gritty, brown, dirt-ay, funk.

Thanks to those terrorists, now I gotta stand one legged like a drunken flamingo in a public restroom as I wet a papertowel and remove the funk. About that time, I wouldn't have minded having the physical address to Abu Ghraib in my little Black-berry book, so I could conduct my own personal torture methods on the 9/11 suspects. It would go a little something like this...

"Sir, please remove nearly everything you have on--including your dignity. Also, do that in front of hundreds of strangers under flourescent lights at an ungodly hour of day."

"Now brace yourself as this retangular device will woosh a contained tornado at your body. Please note, reacting or moving as a result of the gale force winds searching out every crevice of your body, will only further delay your freedom."

We all know that terrorists, being from dry, arid desert regions wear sandals. So...

"Sir, please remove your sandals and place your bare feet on this deceptively clean, tiled surface."

The terrorist will then grimace in pain and utter dismay only to find that no! it is not a shiny floor of purity offering harbour to his naked foot soles, but instead is a surface of bacterial horror with its splattering of dirt and grit and North American imported funk clinging to his arches in dirty delight.

I will extract confessions from the terrorists and defeat their pockets of regime with my inhumane and non-UN approved methods of torture...

But for now, I've got a layover to catch and a stale airport bagel to eat that's supposed to hold me over 'til lunchtime.

rlr

Images


Flawless creatures framed in black and white.

Untroubled faces with toothy grins that somehow aren't over the top...


But the sticker won't come off.

And now she's got a little buyer's remorse...


rlr

Some things never change...

"It appears we have appointed our worst generals to command forces, and our most gifted and brilliant to edit newspapers. In fact, I discovered by reading newspapers that these editor/geniuses plainly saw all my strategic defects from the start, yet failed to inform me until it was too late. Accordingly, I am readily willing to yield my command to these obviously superior intellects, and I will, in turn, do my best for the Cause by writing editorials - after the fact." - Robert E. Lee, 1863



I was recently asked by the place where I volunteer with kids to write an article for their newsletter. I happily obliged and then a few days later easily forgot. Their admin wrote me a few days after my initial deadline wondering where the heck my 300 words were. Oops! Would I be awful for deadline newspaper writing or what?? I scrambled home after my internship that day and threw together these words you see below. Although written in haste, I meant every word, and would have written more words that I meant if allowed more column space. But I don't mind...those days will come....



Fellow LAF volunteers and the infamous "Norman Rockwell Girl"


When I Googled “volunteerism in Hamilton” in October, 2006, I didn’t really know where I’d end up. One phone call led to another and soon I found myself in training for a program called LAF. I loved kids and I had spare time on my hands, so it seemed the perfect fit.

However, my anticipation began to turn to a bit of anxiety when I realized I hadn’t signed up for just a simple after school playtime with kids. These little souls needed more than just another recess in the day—they needed attention—they needed mentoring—they needed me. But would I be qualified enough? Would they like me or think I was too old or un-cool? Could I actually make a difference?

My first day volunteering happened to fall on Halloween and I was surrounded by fairy princesses, scary monsters, and various Disney characters. The mood was festive and some of my fears were soon laid to rest when their shy costumed faces began to smile back at mine. However, I knew it was important to gain their trust as we were just another new wave of strange volunteers sweeping into their lives—lives that were all too often familiar with inconsistency and unpredictability.

Over the last year I’ve had the honor to work with several children in the program. Many of whom I’ve worked with weekly on a one-on-one basis, and over time, built a connection and relationship with that I’ll never forget. No child has been alike, and each one presented a unique adventure along the way. Adventures that involved more than just listening to them read their class assignment, or telling them to please not take all 25 snack bars. The journey I got caught up in involved taking a real interest in who they were and hoping beyond all hope they succeed at the life they’ve been given despite the odds.

I’m still not technically qualified, the kids have told me many times that I’m pretty stinking old, and most days I feel fairly un-cool. But when you’ve witnessed a child grow both academically and emotionally, you can’t help but grow too—and that I am certain has made all the difference in the world.


rlr



I had my in-studio screen test yesterday.... The television program where I hold my internship was gracious enough to allow me their expensive studio time to help build my news reel. And for those of you that were wondering--it's true--the camera does add ten pounds. Yeesh...And I hated the camera angle on the right side of my face and I wish my lips were fuller and my nose less lengthy...But what can ya do? On an intern's salary anyway ;)

I will say I'm grateful to the set of genes I inherited that makes my voice all low and newsy, because having a set of chords that rings like Snow White or Minny Mouse just doesn't fly in this industry.

It wasn't until 6 minutes into the screen test that I began to get minimally comfortable with the camera. Where was this big personality everyone claims that I have? I just couldn't make Personality come out...

Oh, she made her appearance in between takes with the "ahhh! I screwed up!" faces and the self-deprecating comments that made the studio crew laugh, but for the most part she hid. Afraid the camera wouldn't love her, afraid her accent would slip out, afraid that everything she's worked, hoped, dreamed for wasn't actually for her...

I lay in bed last night just seconds away from sleep. Loving that I had the whole bed to myself (Brad's away on business). Loving that I didn't have an ounce of guilt for relishing those three--or four?--chocolate chip cookies and milk before I turned off the tv. Loving that despite my insecurities, I thought the makeup artist did a rocking job and I wasn't going to wipe off her masterpiece for nothin'. And in the midst of all my lovin' and seconds away from new dreams, pure gratitude and the realization of what had happened that day swept over me and I began to cry. Suddenly Romans 8:28 became more than an overused, overquoted verse in times of trouble that we use to encourage other Christians with. These 2,000 year old words were real affirmation for a real woman living in real times.

"And we know that all things work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to his purpose."

Wow. So this is what is happening. You're making good things happen because I love you and because I'm walking out your big plan for me. That's enough to make a grown woman cry...

I can't believe I'm inviting you into my 11 minutes of raw, unedited studio torture. Then again, I'm a sucker for torture and we live in voyeuristic days.

You can always say, "I knew Rikki when...she could barely get out the phrase 'teen mom' without her mouth looking like she ate super glue as a light snack before dinner."



Lunch time musings...

A Canadian colleague of mine recently enlightened me at lunch that studies show the less educated a person is the more they tend to vote conservative. Upon first making this statement though, he of course assumed this was a global voting trend, and one that certainly found itself demonstrated on both sides of the North American border.

However, I found this correlation strangely fascinating. Just when I was beginning to think the two countries were more alike than different, he threw a monkey wrench at me! Not to worry, friends. It was a blow I quickly dodged with a thoughtful response, because everything I've experienced about the voting culture in America--I might know a little as I was actually raised there--indicated the polar opposite.

-Myself "Wow, (for the purposes of discretion we'll lovingly call him 'Bill') Bill, that's very interesting, because in the States it's the liberals in at least the last 20 years who've pandered the low-income and less-educated for their party platforms--the biggest draw being increased welfare."

-"Bill" "Oh. Well. Maybe that's just a Canadian phenomenon."

A phenomenon indeed. Just the very definition of the word implies something out of the ordinary or usual...But alas, these days I never take anyone at their word. That's the ignorant skeptic in me I guess.

However, I greatly respect and admire my colleague's sense of intelligence. I didn't want him walking around feeling like a silly goose for simply regurgitating the hogwash (a synonym for propaganda) that had been fed to him. I searched to confirm my friends statements by actually typing into the Google search engine the phrase, "less educated vote conservative." The results were quite frustrating as they gave me links and data that repeatedly displayed the inverse.

From The Bay Area Center for Voting Research:

"A survey of income and economic status indicates that poorer and less educated than average regions also tend to vote for liberal candidates at a higher rate than their conservative counterparts, indicating that liberal candidates may be ahead in capturing those with concerns about the state of government run social programs and poverty."


http://votingresearch.org/USAstudy.pdf

From The Pew Research Center for the People and the Press:

"Internet news sources, National Public Radio, news magazines, and Rush
Limbaugh's radio show have the best educated audiences, with each of these having at least 36% of their regular readers and listeners having graduated from college....Conservatives and Republicans are especially attracted to Limbaugh, while more Democrats are found among the audiences for the NewsHour, the comedy news shows, news magazines, and the websites of major newspapers."

http://people-press.org/reports/display.php3?ReportID=319

Granted, I understand many people tend to not hold a lot of stock in research and studies. However, I figured liberals tend to hold even less stock in the opinions of this writer, so in this case mere praticality won out. Also, in keeping my thoughts to a minimum, I wanted to be sure and not lose my less-educated audience's attention or ability to comprehend an excess of words on screen. I'm liberal that way...






How 'bout we let the Iraquis speak for themselves?

'I prefer messy democracy to the stability of tyrants'
An interview with Iraq's ambassador to Canada
Theo Caldwell, National Post Published: Tuesday, February 05, 2008

Howar Ziad, the Iraqi ambassador to Canada, has seen the best and the worst of humanity in his homeland. The courage of the Iraqi people, and in particular the emergence of the Kurdistan region from decades of genocide and devastation, represents the highest aspirations of the human spirit. The brutality of the previous 35 years, meanwhile -- torture, mass killings, disappearances and chemical attacks -- is a legacy of man's inhumanity to man. Western politicians, journalists and intellectuals inveigh against the American campaign in Iraq but, having seen the changes in his country, ambassador Ziad shares none of their doubts.
In conversations with me last week, ambassador Ziad spoke of the progress Iraq is making, the yawning indifference this has aroused in the mainstream press and the gratitude of his people for the intervention of the United States and its allies.
When asked if, despite the absence of weapons of mass destruction, the persistence of the terrorist insurgency and the resulting death and instability, the campaign to topple Saddam Hussein was justified, Ziad's answer is categorical and emphatic: "Absolutely. To put this question to the average Iraqi is ridiculous and probably insulting. That regime enslaved people and caused genocide, wars and breached every single human right."
It is this history that makes the nascent success of a free Iraq so remarkable. "We have a democratically elected government," Ziad reports with pride. "We had three elections and, for the first time in the Islamic Middle East, we didn't know the result of the election beforehand."
With a federal budget of $48-billion, declining inflation rates and a newly merged currency that is steadily increasing in value, the economic picture of the new Iraq is brightening, too. Iraq's Kurdistan region, spared major terrorist attacks in recent years, is booming. Its annual development budget is a remarkable $5-billion, and in its capital of Erbil people are buying Western-style apartments in gated communities built around swimming pools. Tens of thousands of Iraqis have begun returning to their homes, thanks to the improved security situation.
Despite constant attempts by terrorists to disrupt production, Iraq's oil output is approaching three million barrels per day. With oil prices at historic highs, this upward trend is good news for Iraqi citizens. "In the past," Ziad points out, "oil revenue has gone to dictators like Saddam, with none of the benefit going to the people." As Christopher Hitchens noted during a trip to the region: "Everybody knows how to snigger when you mention Jeffersonian democracy and Iraq in the same breath; try sniggering when you meet someone who is trying to express these ideas in an atmosphere that only a few years ago was heavy with miasmic decay and the reek of poison gas."
To be sure, the terrorist threat within the country remains, although al-Qaeda haunts the nation as a ghost of its former self. Sectarian divides among Sunni, Shiite and Kurdish populations pose a challenge, but ambassador Ziad likes to point to Canada's example of devolved federalism to demonstrate how people of different cultures and regions can share a nation.
The analogy may seem far-fetched, since Canada's cultural fissures are nowhere near so recent and deadly as those in Iraq. Even so, Canadians can be grateful and proud that Iraqis see our system as an object of supreme aspiration.
Ambassador Ziad shares the belief held by many supporters of the Iraq campaign that, as the counterinsurgency strategy of U.S. General David Petraeus has yielded positive results, the elite news outlets that condemned the American invasion from the beginning have turned a blind eye. According to the Media Research Center, which has been tracking news coverage for over 20 years, the major American networks carried 178 news stories about the Iraq war in September, 2007. By November, by which time the situation had improved, that number had plummeted to 68. In a news culture where The New York Times put Abu Ghraib on its front page 32 days in a row, such a precipitous drop in concern for Iraq speaks volumes.
At times, reporters' obsession with finding bad news about Iraq can lead them beyond satire. Presumably with straight faces, the McClatchy news service lamented in October of 2007 that, "As violence falls in Iraq, cemetery workers feel the pinch."
But ambassador Ziad's ideals are higher than what one reads in the morning paper, and he knows that words are only that. "Regardless of what the media do," he says, "if we genuinely make progress, it really doesn't matter. We have faced many challenges: the terrorists, obviously, and many others who have vested interests -- they didn't want us to succeed. It's not easy to overcome the legacy of a genocidal, fascist regime, but so far we have made it. Economically, the average person is much better off than they used to be, and freedom has strength. It's not perfect. But step by step, we are moving forward, with the help of our friends, the United States."
Reflecting on the vicissitudes of Iraq's young liberty, he adds, "I prefer messy democracy to the stability of tyrants."
It is fashionable to dismiss the U.S.-led campaign in Iraq as a mistake, a failure or even a crime, and with such scorn comes easy agreement and approbation from sophisticates. But, for the people of Iraq, the unpopular truth is more compelling.
theojpcaldwell@yahoo.com
-Theo Caldwell is president of Caldwell Asset Management, Inc., and is an investment advisor in the United States and Canada


She's 10 years old, over 1,200 miles away, and rarely sends emails. But when she does, it makes me cry.

"hi this is sophia if you didnt know i miss you alout"

I'm ridiculous. I have a facebook account, a myspace account, and an abandoned xanga account that hasn't been touched in almost three years...
It's surreal reading the old me. Nearly don't recognize myself. Same song I guess, just a different station...

These days I'm consolidating my thoughts into a more streamlined format--but give me two years and I'm sure I'll be saying the same thing on another hipper, newer blog spot. What lies below is the sporadic historical account of the 2.04-2.05 version of ME. Stay tuned for further updates on the soft wear.

Wednesday, June 08, 2005


no. that picture is not of my boyfriend. he is my chubby bald friend that gets me free food at chili's all the time. you may ask how one comes upon such a rewarding arrangement. well i think the grin on his face tells all. just kiddddding. yay! school is out and the internship at channel 5 rules. here's a shocker for you. i'm having to unlearn half of what i learned in college at his place. helloooo. the real career world sucks. your parents are lying when they tell you college is preparation for a successful career. don't believe them. save your money, their money and run away to europe and marry a dark skinned non-english speaking person. i did and i've never looked back. just kiddddding. about most of that. i must be on crack because this is a weird post...

Monday, April 04, 2005


well folks. it's a countdown until college graduation. 4 weeks and three days. i should probably start going to physics... i think there is more to life than this, however. guess i'm about to find out. i want to give a shout out to my little big bro as we call him, jon-luke. had a good time this weekend watching guy movies with you and talking about girls. did you get the egg mess cleaned up?? shout out to will-amena. for wearing my brother's clothes better than he does. for making onion messes and not cleaning them up and saying "thanks for everything" thinking it would make the situation better. almost worked, but not quite. shout out to jacob wells for making halloween orange colored jeans ALMOST cool and being naturally funny. shout out to my sister, erica, who is also about to graduate. the world is yours, girl. shout out to my dad for letting God give him a change of heart. thanks to him bob howard is short one less MR-2 Spyder in the lot....

Friday, January 21, 2005


alright. so i've typed a new entry today. are you happy now? i didn't need to be updated near so much as erica rae who has had the same depressing entry up since christmas for crying out loud. i saw my friend's ultrasound the other day. i haven't seen a live baby kicking around on a black and white screen in a while. quite a miracle. she's having a girl. i had the honor of the mom actually choosing the middle name i picked out. fun fact that proves the miraculousness (yes, that's a word) of getting pregnant. out of around 30 days in a month did you know that a woman's ovum (egg) is only viable (able to live) for 24 hours? which means that in that 24 hours those gross squiggly things that come from the guy (sperm, yes sperm i said it) have to make sure that at least one (the chosen one), fertilizes that sucker in the small time frame that's given. for those of you whose parents said you were a dadblamed accident and you weren't planned and were just a result of one night of wild drunken sex. guess what? you are no accident. you were very planned. unbenownst to them, maybe, but Someone else had you already hand picked and specialized. love from ya sister who had fun in biology last semester. peace.

Friday, January 07, 2005

please read this link and pray for the success story of this young woman. http://cnn.netscape.cnn.com/news/story.jsp?floc=FF-APO-PLS&idq=/ff/story/0001/20050107/1347688061.htm the following is an email i sent to the AP writer on the story... Dear SHIMALI SENANAYAKE, I'm a 25 year old journalism student from Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, USA. I just read your story on the young girl who was raped by her rescuer in Sri Lanka. Your story moved me to tears and I felt compelled to contact someone on the story. I have taken a Victims in the Media course at school and have learned much about rape victims and how they are portrayed in the news media. I would like to applaud you for not shaming the victim and giving her an identity in your piece. Her brave little soul shone through your description and I immediately idenitfied with her when I read she wanted to be a journalist. She has dreams that reach beyond the bounds of her community that would try to hold her back. I know she would prefer to remain anonymous, but if you could please encourage her on my behalf to try and find the tools she needs to accomplish that dream that seems so far away. Let her know that another woman half way around the world has the same dream to be a journalist and that I am rooting for her with everything in me. She is a survivor and an inspiration and although her success story to become a journalist is unlikely, I anticipate to maybe someday celebrating her story anyway. Regards, Rikki Lee Ratliff Journalism student University of Central Oklahoma

Tuesday, January 04, 2005

nothin beats nyc during the holidays... you step out onto broadway with times square looming ahead in all its glory. the streets are buzzing more than usual and anticipation for the new year is in the air. the rockefeller center tree stands proud and is the object of many a vistor's photographic affection. the sun shines and the air is just brisk enough for a sweater, scarf and gloves. perfection. the pizza's never tasted better and the worse than usual traffic doesn't really bother you. the trees in central park are bare, but the sunset cascading over the oasis transfixed in the city of chaos is inspiring. cheers to a new year, a new love, a new life...

Monday, December 27, 2004

i'm tired of being sick and sounding like a bullfrog when i talk. also, the green stuff in the mornings. not cool. must get better before nyc...i guess i'll break down and go see my young good looking doctor today if i have to... i'm at a crossroads. and after my trip to nyc this week i will either turn right or left. there's no more standing in the middle of the tracks with the potential of getting hit by the train...

Tuesday, December 28, 2004

i think i finally found the Subject i was talking about in this poem that i wrote two years ago...no longer nameless, he may now take full ownership of these words...
His

boyish wiles

create my smiles

distracting me

caught off-guard, i falter

and recover in his arms


His

kisses snare me

but I don’t mind

i go willingly

into his tight embrace

with my head spinning

and my cares erased.


He…

caught my attention

caught my undivided attention

caught my very divided heart

good catch…

Monday, December 20, 2004

k. wanna hear how bad i suck? wanna see a bad movie scene unfold before your eyes? who frickin' asks a fat girl if she's pregnant in real life? i do. and she was my waitress. we were thanking God we already had our food on the table. i felt stoned anyway all afternoon after i had gotten my facial. the lady must have hit some "i'm gonna make you feel whacked out of your mind" pressure points in my face when she was massaging it, cause i was in a funk all afternoon and night. and evidently the filter for my mouth was switched "off" last night too. she looked pregnant, not fat. pregnant i tell ya. everyone else thought so too. i was just the only retard retarded enough to ask ever so sweetly, "are you gonna have a baby?" she froze while picking up plates, "uh, no."
"Oh, God," my head and every one else's sinks into their plate. our faces redden like the spaghetti sauce sitting on our plates. "I suck, kill me now." Does any of my four girlfriends try to help dig their dying sister out of the hole she's in? No. They leave me there in the seemingly endless misery. Seconds seem like hours in moments like these. So I falter, stutter, blush, have tears welling in the corners of my eyes and say to make things better of course, "but you're cute as a button." Holy hell. Did I really just say that? I'm converting to Catholicism so that I may pay for penance. I need to buy my way out of this situation as no amount of grace is good enough for this idiot. Believe me when i say the tip i left was definitely more than my meal. Sorry, Erica. There goes your Christmas present this year...

Thursday, December 16, 2004


Memory Lane Without the Bumps It’s a goofy song that hit the airwaves back in the summer of ’88 I think--Don’t Worry Be Happy. It was a tune filled with mostly a bunch of “dooo’s” at varying lengths and pitches. There was also some whistling during the chorus that topped the song off and put your soul at ease. My family was having a garage sale and Grandma and Grandpa’s house. It was early summer in rural Luther, Oklahoma. At that time there were only four of us kids. Yes, I said only four. The two youngest girls (Nicole and Erica) were still toddlers and running around with only bottoms on, barefoot and happy. It was such a treat back then to be hanging out at Grandma and Grandpa’s. It was more fun than eating out on Friday nights, and almost as exciting as swimming in the public pool. My brother and I had setup a lemonade stand. Business was slow though and most of the lemonade was sitting in my stomach. As it goes with most lemonade businesses, our first profits came from Mom and Dad. They would sip on the lemonade and say it was the best lemonade they had ever tasted. Then, I believed them. Now I know that’s what every good parent has to say. Later that afternoon, Grandpa checked our report cards. We would get fifty cents for every “A.” I already knew how much money that would mean for me before I handed him the report card, but hearing his exclamations of what a smart girl I was made me grin inside. Listening to the clink-clink as he would drop those quarters in my hand was so rewarding. I was momentarily rich. More money to add to the lemonade bucket. I’m pretty sure it was an old Folger’s coffee can. Grandma and Grandpa loved their Folger’s… Sometime throughout that perfect summer day, I don’t remember when, the little radio we had set up outside started singing out, “Don’t worry be happy.” The song was catchy and bouncy. The whole family was whistling and singing to it. Even after the next song came on we were still singing that tune. It was fun to imitate the Jamaican accent and listen to my dad whistle the song in perfect tune. My dad is still the best whistler I know… I don’t remember exactly how the day ended and I think it’s better that way. It makes the memory seem surreal. Who would want an end to a perfect day like that? That beautiful summer afternoon, there were no worries and we were all happy. I was happy. I want a day like that again…