as if you could kill time without injuring eternity

I learned of this late. But some of my long-time readers may recognize the name Wilma McClarty; I’ve blogged about her before, back when I was in Tennessee and still saw her from time to time.

In the fall of 1994 my freshman comp teacher was this tiny woman, maybe an inch or two shorter than me and about a hundred pounds, soaking wet with rocks in her pockets. Everything she wore matched. Everything. From her makeup down to her shoes. She always looked spiffy and she never stopped moving.