I learned cursive writing in second grade with Mrs. Easter.  She was a heavy set woman with wire-rimmed glasses, a metal brace on one leg from knee to shoe, and she walked with a limp.  I was told she contracted polio when she was younger.  I sat in the back row the first few weeks until it was discovered that I could not see the blackboard in front clearly.  A note home resulted in a visit to an optometrist and a new pair of pink glasses shaped like cat eyes.  Mrs. Easter also sent a note home when I was having trouble writing the letter J.  It was my father who sat me at the kitchen table for what seemed like forever but likely just a few days, teaching me the method he was taught.  I practiced pages upon pages of circles and ovals on penmanship paper before beginning the loops of capital J.  My father was also a no-nonsense man that had my heart beating fast the moment he raised his voice.  His threats of punishing me was enough to do my best and by the end of the week I was comfortable writing the letter J.

My paper doll is dressed in a bellbottom outfit with a leaf pattern and a silver belt with a black buckle at the waist.  It's late summer in the city and she feels the need to get away for the day.  She calls a few friends together and they plan an early morning ride to the Morton Arboretum for a long walk among the trees.