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Whether skiing woodland trails, or hiking mountain ranges, Aunt Helga knew nothing if not to be the centre of attraction. For her it was the most natural place in the world. No sooner did she sprain an ankle, than a handsome stranger would pop up from behind a rock, or emerge from behind a tree. It was almost as though they lay in wait for her to chance by, just to lend a broad shoulder for her to lean on. Should she get lost down a maze of dark alleys in some far-off city, a chivalrous soul would soon materialise out of nothing and rush to her side. Conveniently armed with a handy map, he would offer to guide her back to her hotel, even when it meant going miles out of his way. If she dropped an earring, or key, in the middle of nowhere, some passing boy scout would surely appear, sink to his knees, and scrabble round in the mud, only for her to discover the missing item had been in her bag all along. And when she laughed at her own silliness the poor lovelorn never failed to laugh with her, despite his muddied trousers. With Aunt Helga life was one long adventure. She couldn’t help but steal the limelight. The moment she floated into a room all eyes would swivel in her direction. Men and boys alike, fell for her in droves. Yet she seemed totally oblivious to all. Read more.
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Gene Logsdon Memorial Blogsite
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