The Basket Lady

A Story of Teaching

Magical things happen when we least expect them. Sometimes they sit in our minds and twinkle for several years before we recognize them as magic at all. They are carried on a silent breeze and linger in the corners of our imagination. They inspire our dreams. They implore our senses. They fill our spirits with wonder. That’s what the Basket Lady did for me.

The Basket Lady came not so gently one day into our home in 1956. Winters in Iowa are cold, snowy, and slippery. As my father held the back door of our house, a slight, gray-haired lady entered. She slid across the tiled entrance with an unusual flair and landed by the edge of the soft green carpet. Upon containing my laughter, I ducked from this strange, brown basket that came spiraling through the air. It landed on its side as did the lady. My father helped her up and made sure everything was in its right place. Her hat was tipped slightly, but her arms, legs and other necessities appeared to be intact.

“Help with the basket, will you please, Kathie,” came the voice of my father.

“Sure daddy,” I responded, “but what is all of this?”

“Kathie, just put it back in the basket. I’m sure that Mrs. Armontrout will show you later.”

“Do you promise?” I asked with a question in my voice as I looked up at the quaint little lady with the strange name.

“Yes, I do,” said she as she placed her feathered hat on the table and adjusted her glasses that had been tilted from the fall. “I have lots of favorite things in there. We’ll take a look after your parents have left.”

When you’re five years old you don’t want your parents to leave for the evening. Baby-sitters could never be fun and I was usually in for a long, boring time whenever one appeared. Tonight felt different. I couldn’t wait.

“Good-bye,” said my mother as she gently kissed my sister, Julie, and me on the cheeks. “Now the two of you be good and go right to bed when Mrs. Armontrout tells you to.”