The Grass fire on Sunnidale Street

By Sharon Weatherall

The marshmallows were cooking nicely as we stood by our small fire pit constructed of red bricks and old refrigerator racks. It was the last day of our weekend camping experience and we were just making up from an argument - one of several we had during the weekend. This was par for my cousin Kathy and me as we couldn’t usually get along for more than a couple hours at a time.

On this windy day in late August we had debated about not having a fire then decided to have one anyway to use up our marshmallows. We were on our own as the family had gone away for a short while. We looked at each other and laughed as we pulled the burnt brown puffs off of sticks and popped them into our mouths.

At some point we realized there was more smoke floating around than seemed possible from the tiny pit we were standing in front of. Turning around we screamed in panic seeing the entire yard behind us ablaze with a fire that was spreading quickly towards the house and a mobile home that was parked at the edge of the property. You had to drive up a dusty, dirt laneway to get to the house and the whole yard was surrounded by the long, dry grass of a farmer's field.

Earlier in the week Kathy and I had come up with a plan to make a playhouse in the abandoned brick henhouse behind the house. I lived in the mobile home with four siblings and my parents on the property, which belonged to my grandparents. The big farmhouse was split in two with my grandparents living in the larger back half and my aunt, uncle and their two kids renting the front of the house.

We had come to live there in the trailer earlier that spring after selling our house in Orangeville – dad wanted to start a paving business in the area. Once it was up and running he planned to buy a house for us but still wasn’t sure where he wanted to live.

Later that fall my dad and gramps must have had a falling out because we moved the mobile to Cedar Grove - a trailer park in Wasaga Beach. Then eventually we moved back into the back half of the old farm house after my grandparents purchased a smaller house in town.

Anyway, after coming up with the playhouse brainwave ten year old Kathy and I spent a whole week lugging old furniture to my place from her place on Warrington Road - a good 30 minute walk, including a small dresser, cupboard shelving for food, coffee table and other necessities we thought we might need. We even had electricity with my dad's new extension cord to turn on our lamps and an old toaster we were using for our bread.

The henhouse was a fair size of maybe 10’ x10’ with two beds made of old wire springs and red brick legs. We had no mattresses for the beds and so sleeping was pretty uncomfortable and we ended up both nights in on the kitchen floor of the trailer. In truth the hard beds were not the only thing we were trying to escape. There were scary noises we kept hearing outside and one of the nights there was a thunder storm, so of course we didn’t want the building to get struck by lightning.

During the day time Kathy and I passed the time playing house, eating our stash of candy and food or playing cards etc. when we weren't arguing. If the fights got bad enough she or I would threaten to go home and end up over visiting Gramma’s or my aunt next door.  Our uncle made a point to tell us not to light any fires out there because the grass was too dry – I think he was a volunteer fire fighter at the time but we decided after leaving that he should mind his own bees wax.

We were very protective of the playhouse too and would not let the other kids in which caused a lot of crying and trouble from my mom. She threatened to make us rip it down if we didn't share. She was also making me come home on Saturday morning to do my chores which took away from playhouse time. Kathy offered to help me with the dusting and cleaning so we could get back out quicker. Mom, who considered Kathy to be “too verbal for her own good” did not allow her to help me so she went to Gramma’s to wait. Kathy, who didn't really like being told what to do usually, voiced her opinion loudly which caused more trouble because my mom had ears in the back of her head.

While it was cool having the playhouse by Sunday Kathy and I were getting tired of the game and of each other. We had already promised to clean up our mess when we were done and keep the area looking good. The two of us had decided to lock everything inside and made plans to camp again the next weekend. We just had to get rid of the food so it didn't attract coons and mice.

With my family away and our grandparents gone somewhere too there was only my uncle left on the property. He was sitting at the front side of the house drinking beers with a friend. Since they were out of sight and earshot before breaking it up for the weekend, we decided to roast some marshmallows and set about getting a small fire going in our little brick fire pit. This took some effort due to the breeze which kept blowing it out but using newspapers and cardboard we finally got a nice little blaze going.

Suddenly, there was a lot of smoke coming from behind us. Turning around to see the ‘out-of-control’ blaze Kathy and I freaked out and grabbed each other. ‘What the heck?????” Then we went into action mode trying to get the fire out before anyone saw it. I grabbed a piece of cardboard box and Kathy grabbed a broom and we began beating the fire. It didn’t take us long to figure out where to start  - we ran to trailer and house then began beating it towards to the open lawn. But it was a losing battle - every time we got some out another section would flare up.

Our efforts seemed fruitless with the fire racing towards the long grass along the side of the driveway. If we didn't get it under control it would reach the highway and alert passing cars…then the fire department would be called and everyone would know! Tears and sweat streaming down our faces we beat at the fire winning some areas and loosing others. Finally we decided we had to get our uncle to come and help. Kathy stayed stomping at the fire while I ran around the side of the house and blurted out the crisis to him and his friend. They jumped out of their chairs and followed me to the back of the house. "Holy shit!" my uncle yelled. "What did I tell you girls about lighting fires today?"

Both men went to work- one grabbing a water hose and the other grabbing a sheet of plywood to begin beating the fire. Eventually the whole lawn was covered with black soot - a dead giveaway that there had been a fire, but at least the house and trailer were safe. We then concentrated on the lane way where the blaze was working its way to toward the highway. Finally the combined efforts of the four of us got the fire under control. Kathy and I were exhausted and crying when it was finally out. Our uncle and his friend were surveying the damages shaking their heads at the mess - everything was covered with soot. They chastised us about what could have happened and said Grampa would be “very upset”.

After begging the two men not to tell on us we promised to clean it up and grabbed straw brooms and began sweeping the soot off the grass which actually made a big difference. We worked until we had blisters on our hands sweeping the black away until it looked pretty clean again. Under the charred remains we found bright green new grass. It took us most of the afternoon to get all the soot off the burned areas and we were exhausted but still running on adrenaline.

My uncle and his friend did not offer to help with the clean-up but after pointing out the damage we had done to my dad's new electrical cord found their way back to the front of the house again and continued their visit – no doubt laughing to think we could clean up the mess. Oh what a story it would be to tell their friends.

Kathy and I used black electrical tape to cover the burnt extension cord and then we started taking apart the playhouse and loading up the wagons to pull the furniture back to her place. I knew it would be the first thing my mom would demand when she found out and wasn’t going to wait to be told. I was in big trouble and knew it. I figured I would be grounded for weeks and not allowed to play with Kathy for even longer.

When Gramma and Grampa pulled in we were still busy dismantling the playhouse. Grampa asked why we were taking it down and we told him we were done playing there for now. He said it seemed like a lot of work for just one weekend – boy did he have that right! Then, walking along the perimeter of the property hands behind his back, Grampa then headed down the laneway past where the fire had stopped near the long grass and we followed. "You know," he said to Gramma, “I think we need to get the boys out here to burn this grass.....it's getting pretty long!"

Kathy and I nearly dropped on the spot. Had he been talking to our uncle? He and his buddy were still at the front of his house and hadn't come round yet. Maybe Grampa knew but he never, ever mentioned the August grass fire to us. As for my dad, that was a different story – our uncle wasn’t long telling him. The first thing dad did was check out his electrical cord and when he couldn’t find the burn damage, he came and asked me where it was. I told him I had taped it up and all he said was he guessed it was time to clean up the playhouse for this year. Kathy and I said we were already in the process of doing that.

That was one of the more exciting but dangerous antics Kathy and I were involved in over the years but it sure wasn't the only one - we got into quite a few messes back then but we laugh about them now.

 

Elvis in Collingwood for 18 years

 

By Sharon Weatherall

The Collingwood Elvis Festival on July 25 - 28, 2013 is the biggest festival of its kind in the world and it’s in my own backyard.

Everyone my age grew up listening to the radio music of Elvis Presley while seeing his face on television and of course, in the tabloids. After all you can’t be royalty and not attract scandal. In the final years of his life, the aging Rock King drew a lot of attention from stories related to drugs, his strange habits and growing girth due to love of rich and bizarre foods including peanut butter.  But whatever he did didn’t matter to his die-hard fans – any publicity was worthwhile when it was about Elvis. He was my idol and I loved his handsome mug no matter how chubby it got. And I loved his dedication - he never gave up his love of performing no matter how hard it was on him. Sweating profusely, eyes swollen and closed, struggling to deliver a few karate kicks, the King always delivered a walloping show for screeching followers who adored him.  Those who were lucky enough to afford it may have flown into Vegas to watch one of his concerts during the many years he performed there.  

When I was just 20 the news of his untimely death hit me like a sledgehammer – the King was dead. On August 16^th, 1977 as word leaked out about his tragic demise thousands of people swarmed Graceland laying flowers and carving their names in the stone wall surrounding the mansion. Fans in every country bemoaned his loss in different ways holding candle light vigils, prayer gatherings and public film events of his concerts and movies. In Hawaii when the news broke sobbing Polynesians made for the water and threw in flower leas. A girlfriend of mine who was vacationing there at the time thought the world was coming to an end – later she was caught up in the sorrowful atmosphere that shook the Pacific Island and cried through a good portion of her vacation.  
The loss of Elvis Presley was never really accepted and I would have to say to this day he is one of the most grieved musicians in the history of the music world – he was the King after all. I know it took me at least a year to get over the initial shock - I spent months going over tabloid stories and rumours, collecting memorabilia and even made my new husband drive me to Memphis on our honeymoon the year after Elvis died. We landed at the gates of Graceland in February during a rain storm that lasted for four days. Visitations to his grave had recently begun but because of the rain they were not allowing anyone on the grounds for insurance reasons.

I was devastated that we had to continue on to Florida the next day, however I did get Elvis’ father’s autograph after a hydro meter man allowed us on his property. We had been told by an Elvis memorabilia store owner where Vernon lived – his home was located on the street backing Elvis’ property – a city block enclosed by the stone wall. They said Vernon Presley sometimes came out to talk to visitors. We parked in the rain for an hour in front of his place before I made my husband go to the door and knock. When it opened he proceeded to give Mr. Presley (who was in the middle of shaving) a sob story about how we had driven all the way from Canada to find locked gates. He invited us both to come in and signed my recently purchased ‘Concert Years’ book and told us how sorry he was that we could not get into Graceland grounds. Looking back it should have been me apologising to him for our disrespectful behavior knocking on the poor guy’s door when he was still deeply mourning the death of his beloved son. Vernon Presley died about two years after Elvis on June 26, 1979.

I never went back to Graceland even though there was always an ach in my heart when I thought of Elvis and what his loss meant to so many. Over the years I listened to his music and got out my scrapbook from time to time. In 1995 I was overjoyed to find out that Collingwood, Ontario – a town close by me, was organizing an ‘Elvis Festival’. What a fabulous idea - I couldn’t believe it.  What were the odds? That first year the festival was small with a handful of tribute artists performing – but the weather was great and the venue set a perfect ‘stage’ for such an event. During the next few years the festival developed a reputation for professionalism and the town’s welcoming atmosphere, drawing ‘Elvi’ and fans from around the world. I never dreamed that it would someday gain global recognition, never mind still be going strong 18 years later!

Attended by tens of thousands of visitors annually, the award-winning Collingwood Elvis Festival is a four-day celebration of the life, music and career of Elvis Presley. From every corner town the voices of rockin’ and rollin’ tribute artists are amplified throughout the days and nights. Local folks can sit and tap their toes without even leaving their porches – others are at the party dancing and tipping back a few beers.

 Re-creating the nostalgia of an era, the upcoming 2013 festival will deliver a wide variety of family-friendly, multigenerational music at the picturesque tourist destination. Chosen as one of the Top 100 Festivals in Ontario for seven consecutive years, the Collingwood Elvis Festival is proud to be included as a qualifying location for the Ultimate Elvis Tribute Artist Contest. For more details about the upcoming event visit the web site: CollingwoodElvisFestival.com.

The complexity surrounding a festival of this scale is made possible by an experienced  group of organizers and hundreds of dedicated volunteers that sign up to help out each year. Throughout the weekend there are tribute artists performing at numerous indoor and outdoor venues in the town and other local communities. In almost two decades of festivals there has only ever been very few times when rainy weather has interrupted and this only lasted for a few hours or a day before things would ‘swing’ back to normal. Attending Elvis fans are a hearty crew who come prepared with umbrellas and raincoats… just in case. The cost to attend the outdoor public part of festival is minimal, while most of those attending indoor concerts and finals paid for tickets that are usually sold out the year before.

With big name sponsors the like of OLG, Tim Hortons, West Jet, Molson/Coors, the Province of Ontario, widespread radio, television and the internet media including Wireless Personal Communications Inc. (WPCI), publicity for the event is phenomenal. The tribute artists themselves are top notch performers and range in categories from professional, non-professional, gospel and youth.

 Everyone who ever wanted to impersonate the King has an opportunity to try no matter what their age or gender. In fact the Collingwood area has produced many talented young performers from its own midst – winning tribute artists that have attended the festival since childhood and dreamt about entertaining on stage.
 The Friday night ‘Street Party’ hosts no less than 25,000 people who begin setting up their lawn chairs on Hurontario Street in Collingwood early in the morning to ensure the very best seats.  The road is closed off for three or four blocks with a grandeur stage where all tribute artists get a chance to sing one of Elvis’ songs during the evening.

For locals who live in the area the Elvis Festival is either a tradition they never miss or a time to get-out-of-town while the gettin’ is good. As early as the week before, Elvi can be seen on the streets strumming guitars and signing autographs while fans from across the nation begin filling camp areas and booking into hotels. Collingwood is located on Georgian Bay a high end tourism area with tons to do and see. Throughout the actual four day event people not only dress in 50’s and 60’s clothing – poodle skirts, flip hairdos, glittering jackets and leather pants but they don sideburns, wear gold glasses and wildly exaggerated pompadour wigs. It’s a fun time for all involved. Friday and Saturday nights have massive indoor and outdoor beer gardens that fill up with people to watch the live entertainment on stages around the town.

Everyone has their own story about Elvis and why they come to the festival. Talking to Elvis fans like a friendly couple who came all the way from UK one year, is a hoot. They joked about a rain storm which sent people running for shelter earlier that weekend.
 
“You might have known it was a person from England who won, he brought the rain with him,” laughed Philip and Linda Shuttleworth of Newcastle UK following The Grande Finals of the 2011 Collingwood Elvis Festival (CEF).

While the rain fell outside cooling off one of the worst heat waves of the summer, the couple’s fellow countryman Pete Storm was inside sizzling – the London tribute artist was crowned Professional Concert Year Champion and overall winner to represent Collingwood in Memphis Tennessee at the Ultimate Elvis Competition later that summer.

The Shuttleworths said they had ever heard of Pete Storm before coming to the Collingwood Elvis Festival that year but not because he hasn’t been working to build a reputation back home. Storm who won 2011 ‘Images’ King Champion in Wales and European ETA Master sang at Los Vegas in January 2012 during the celebration of Elvis’ birthday. 

Storm topped a list of 121 tribute artists from around the world performing in the Collingwood competition and festival organizer Rosemarie O’Brien was proud to announce there were quite a few new names on that list that year. She said Storm being new to the festival and winning the whole thing was amazing but not unheard of.

“Ben Klein did the same thing the year he won. I call them dark horses who come in and sweep the light. It is very encouraging to have so many new tribute artists,” related O’Brien.

There are always special guests attending the festival each year from members of the Memphis Mafia who surrounded Elvis when he was alive to starlets that made movies with him during his years in film. In 2011 rescued Chilean miner Edison Pena  - a huge Elvis fan, became an amazing draw for the festival thanks to ‘Celebrate Ontario’ for funding his visit. While trapped underground Pena entertained fellow miners by crooning them with Elvis songs.

“When rescued, Edison was taken to Memphis and Graceland so I thought he needed to see the biggest Elvis festival in the world,” said O’Brien, indicating that when he left the Chilean singer  would be seeing other areas of Ontario including a visit to Niagara Falls.


So the event boasts growth and history over 18 years as well as excitement and top notch entertainment. In 1995 the first years of the Collingwood Elvis Festival Ray Guillemette, Jr., USA won first place in the professional category and Anthony Giavon, Canada won first in the non-professional category. Last year the following tribute artists took home titles: Professional Early Years - 1st place winner – Matt Dowsett (Cage), Canada, 2nd place winner – Bruce Andrew Stewart, Canada and 3rd place winner – Brent Morrey, Switzerland. Professional Concert Years - 1st place winner – Ben Portsmouth, UK, 2nd place winner – Jesse Aron, USA and 3rd place winner – Oliver Steinhoff, Germany. Non Professional Early Years - 1st place winner – Brycen Katolinsky, Canada, 2nd place winner – Norm Ackland Jr., Canada and 3rd place winner – Richard Wolfe, Canada. Non Professional Concert Years - 1st place winner – Anthony Carbone, Canada, 2nd place winner – Kevin Bezaire, Canada and 3rd place winner – Sam Calleri, Canada. Canadian Star Challenge - Winner – Brycen Katolinsky, Canada. Inspirational Elvis - 1st place winner – Thane Dunn, Canada, 2nd place winner – Corny Rempel, Canada and 3rd place winner – Anthony Carbone, Canada. Youth Senior - 1st place winner – Drake Milligan, USA, 2nd place winner- Mason Cigan, Canada and 3rd place winner – Brenen Katolinsky, Canada. Youth Junior -1st place winner – Connor Russo, Canada, 2nd place winner – Ethan Chalmers, Canada and 3rd place winner – Aaron Gallant, Canada.

The line-up of 2013 tribute artists is already forming up and promises to be equally as impressive as other years with talent from around the world joining the rooster. A summary of events that can be found along with other details on the official website: CollingwoodElvisFestival.com 

Don’t forget the parade on Saturday morning. It features waving and kissing Elvi affixed to beautiful antique and rare cars from every era. Great photo opportunities and it’s a highlight of the festival!

As for me I am getting ready for my company to come and stay for the entire weekend like they do every year. My cousin Cathy and her friend Lisa would not miss the Elvis Festival and we wouldn’t miss having them. Cathy wears blinking buttons and Elvis scarves from every festival. There are other guests that come and stay from time to time some new and some returns, but each and every one goes home with a sore belly from laughing and enough memories to last until its festival time again the next year.

Beautiful from the inside out

 

By Sharon Weatherall

She didn't have a lot going for her as far as looks go and she cried a lot, but she was one of the most beautiful people that I had ever met. As a friend she made quite an impact on my life during the last years of public school. In fact, she helped to develop my strong character and reinforced an ability to stand up for what I believed in - to express myself verbally saying what I wanted to say no matter what the consequences. Being able to do that felt really good for a kid who knew what it was liked to be teased.

*Gilda* had a very severe type of acne that covered her entire face, neck and likely continued down on her back and chest. Gilda's face was covered with large purple welts almost like boils that looked really sore. Where there were none, pock scars were left from where the acne had been in the past. These were not pimples that could be cleared up with off-the-shelf acne meds - they required intense medical treatments by skin specialists. Gilda always smelled like medication and her nerves were frazzled from having to deal with school or just being out in the public in general where she got rude stares or teasing.

I can't remember when Gilda developed her acne problem but it must have started sometime around puberty. In grade five I had moved to the small town where she lived and don’t remember much about her earlier other than she was a shy kid with a sort of egg shaped head. This was made much more noticeable by her very fine straight hair. Gilda’s hair became greasy very easily probably from her meds and she wore it short with bangs in a page boy style. She was not a heavy girl but long legged and gangly with a bigger chest than the average kid at school.

Gilda didn't have a lot of friends and kept to herself for the most part except for her younger sister and two younger brothers. They were Dutch and her parents both worked locally. I got to know Gilda better through sitting close to her at school. I think my desk was in front of hers and I was a chatty student who was always getting in trouble for turning around in class to talk. I guess I felt like we had something in common - her with her acne and me with my fuzzy hair - something I got teased about all through school even when I became more popular during my senior years. In grade seven we did a lot of group study and projects for school that required teams so I had ended up partnering with Gilda. This brought us closer together in the ‘out of the school’ environment like the library or our houses after school and on weekends.

Gilda lived on the same side of town as me only I lived past her on the farthest outskirts. We took up walking home together and often times she would pass her own house to walk me halfway home because we were involved in some sort of heavy discussion or having fun laughing. When Gilda was with me she laughed all the time and I loved saying crazy, off-the-wall things or telling stories to get her going. Sometimes she would be laughing so hard she would get snorting and then I would be laughing at her. Gilda had lovely eyes with long curling lashes that twinkled and got teary when she cracked up. I think it was a stress release for her to laugh and I could always bring out her great sense of humour.

Gilda loved music and had a portable ghetto blaster she carried with her so we could listen to music as we walked and sometimes sing along with the songs. She would tell me about her treatments and medications and what it was like being a volunteer for experiments to try to get rid of the acne. One time they actually sanded layers of skin off of her face to make the pocks less noticeable. She got frequent needles, acid burns and so many things that would be scary to anyone never mind a kid but she was willing to try anything to make her face look better.

When she walked all the way to my place after school, Gilda and I hung out in my bedroom or outside if the weather was nice. My sisters and brothers got used to her looks but made comments when she left. I would defend her asking how they would like to have bad acne or medical problems which usually shut them up fairly quickly. The boys were bad but my dad was terrible. He would ask me what I saw in Gilda and why I brought her to the house? My mom would get very upset by this because she knew Gilda’s mom and how the girl was suffering emotionally. I think my dad said cruel things about her because the look of her bothered him and he thought I could get better friends but he didn’t bother to get to know her - I hated that. In later years my dad actually developed a compassion for people with problems in life who were misfits. He always gave them jobs or money to help them out.

I didn’t dare let Gilda know what my dad thought about her or it would have hurt her deeply. When I was at her place I was treated with the utmost kindness and believe her parents appreciated our friendship knowing that she was happier having my support and camaraderie at school and in life. I stuck up for her when kids teased or said rude things. I can remember staying there one time and her sister and brothers staring at me like it was a real rarity to have overnight company. Her mom and dad were great and I later remained friends with them both, having become good friends with another girl Marilyn, whose mom worked with Gilda's mom. They were at her place socially all the time.

It is hard to be someone’s friend when you can’t shield them from hurtful things. Thinking back, I deeply regret the time I was once the cause of Gilda’s hurt quite by accident. It was during the summer following grade seven and before we went back to school as "grown-ups" in grade eight. There was an interest developing between boys and girls and some of us had begun going steady, holding hands and taking the first steps towards more serious relationships. That summer there were a lot of house parties in fact, we all took turns having one. I was a popular kid because I took risks and said what I wanted. People liked that boldness about me although I still got teased to high heaven about my hair. Like Gilda, I was constantly trying experiments and new products for this personal problem. Just when I would find something that worked the humidity would come along and my hair would go all fuzzy again.

Anyway, one Friday night I talked Gilda into going to a party with me. In the past she was either not invited or too leery to attend these get-togethers always bowing out with some excuse about an appointment or company coming to her house. At parties the lights were low and we sat around eating chips and drinking pop - two things Gilda was not supposed to do because of her face. We also listened to records and everyone brought their favs to play. Gilda loved music and contributed to this as she had a good collection or records. Something new at these boy/girl parties was playing spin the bottle where everyone sat in a circle and took turns spinning – wherever the bottle stopped the spinner had to go off with that person into a closet or behind a closed door to kiss.

Having fun and caught up in the game that night I never thought of poor Gilda sitting there worrying about what would happen should the bottle point her way. She must have been paranoid never having kissed a boy before or even held a boy's hand. Worse still, I didn’t think about the response of a boy if his bottle pointed at her. I was totally not prepared for the reaction that took place when one actually spun and got Gilda....when it happened all hell broke loose. The boy jumped to his feet verbally refusing to kiss her. The girls were shocked and the boys were snickering. I stood up and tried to force the issue saying Gilda was the same as everyone else but that just made things worse. Hurt and embarrassed, the poor girl broke into tears and wanted to go home. I tried to console her but all she wanted to do was call her mother. It was a disaster and I felt so badly for what happened I didn't quite know what to do after she ran out the door sobbing when her mom pulled up.

Gilda was very cool towards me when I called her the next day and we grew apart that summer. When we went back to school in the fall she was ok but things were not the same as before and we were never really close again. Grade eight was a year of changes for everyone. Kids were going through puberty and finding their sexuality as they connected with each other on a more intimate basis. There were more parties, booze and even some drugs entering the scene.

Gilda and I remained friendly throughout that year still talking and walking home together the odd time. She would listen to my stories about boys and get quite a kick out of them. I had formed ties with different kids and Gilda loved to hear about the messes we got into, wishing secretly that she could be part of them. Then the next year after entering high school we lost touch because I chose to go to school in another town for arts while she went to the hometown high school and must have done ok. I heard she had lots of friends there and went on to school in Toronto taking some sort of design course after she graduated.

I was lucky enough to run into Gilda one more time after she moved away to the city and realized she was happier than she had ever been living in a small town. Exposed to the all the right sources for skin and hair care, she was able to make major improvements with her acne and she found a guy that loved her. They had become engaged before she suddenly died of an aneurism around the age of 20. During that visit home I will always remember her proudly walking up the Main Street with a mini skirt and a pair of wedgie sandals, arm and arm with her man. She had confidence in herself and life and her parents beamed when anyone asked about her!  It was through this unique friendship that I learned about inner beauty and have never forgotten. Now I look for it in all people and always find it no matter what a person looks or acts like.  

* ‘Gilda’ is not the actual name of the person I have written about but she was a real girl from my life.