In good company . . .

I worried about attending a class reunion . . .


This is a telling photo. I think it is from our senior prom.
Yes, we all felt like losers with no dates.


But you can survive high school if you have a good friend. I was blessed. I had a good friend and a group of good friends to hang with . . . to ride the bus together, celebrate birthdays, go to church, go to ballgames and more.

And I had a tiny place to succeed.
I sang in a trio through high school.


There were others that I enjoyed spending time with as well . . . all girls. I did not have a boyfriend nor did I have boys that were friends. Somehow, I wrapped much of my self-worth around that detail. I assumed that on the “most likely class list”, I was the one most likely to never marry and never have children. I am so glad that I was wrong! I was blessed—abundantly blessed. Even so, I still got cold feet and nearly did not attend my class reunion.

But I went. I did a little self-talk . . . “This is not about you. Let others tell you their stories.”

I had a conversation the night before I left with my good friend, Carol. We both chuckled at the dialog that we never expected to have, "Okay, then I'll meet you at Ickeys."


Another conversation that made us chuckle was that we marveled over the great price of gas in Archbold. who would have thought we would be appreciating gas that was over $3.00 per gallon! We actually saw it a couple of cents lower at another station.


My three most enjoyable and heartfelt conversations at the actual reunion were with men—boys from my class that I never had one conversation with in high school and I would remember if I had. I loved hearing a piece of their stories.

But my real highlight was my dear girlfriends—staying up until
3:00 a.m., catching up and reveling in the real friendships that have spanned our lifetimes. (One of our group of six was unable to attend.)


All six of us have experienced deep grief and sadness and all of us have received unbelievable blessings and happy times. Through it all God has sustained us and held us in His hand.

After the reunion luncheon, a group of attendees discussed “doing high school again.” Some have much fonder stories than I. Some were successful athletes. One thought high school was “a blast.” We agreed that the pressures of high school are much more complex and challenging than when we attended. Our issues were simpler.


Three boys got sent home from our senior trip for attending a Yankees ballgame without permission.

Regarding high school, one man said, “Sure, I would gladly do it again if I could know all that I know now.” But in that particular group the consensus was, “Definitely not. I would not want to go back.”


As I looked around the group, I sensed camaraderie between those that were in my class—somewhat of a recognition that age was taking its toll on all of us and life experiences have had somewhat of an equalizing effect on us. Everyone has a story. I am sorry that I did not have time to hear more of their stories. I will attend my next high school reunion.

On This Day . . .

I need to put a disclaimer on this post, at the very beginning. This is one of those personal trips down memory lane written in a public forum. It does seem a bit presumptuous to post it here. I'm counting on my experience being similar to other women. When I look back, I rejoice at what God has done.

Thirty six years ago, I gave birth to a son—my firstborn. It was an incredible experience. I was taken by surprise at the overwhelming love that I felt for him. I identified with Eve—as if I were the first person to ever give birth to a son. I could not stop smiling. One of the nurses handed me a note with his statistics—his weight and height and she wrote on the note, “He’s beautiful!”


I thought, “It’s not just me. She’s seen lots of babies and she thinks he is the most beautiful baby, also!”

I was embarrassed when I took Andy to church for the first time because I could not stop smiling. I tried to look modest but I was so happy. I imagined that everyone else was jealous of me and I felt sorry for them and so blessed that I had this beautiful child.

That thought lasted for a very long time. I remember when Dale and I would go look at our boys sleeping, just before we went to bed at night, we would marvel to each other over how cute they were. I wondered, “How did God take our very ordinary [at best] genes and create these two marvelous and adorable children?”

And now both of my sons are married and fathers—wonderful fathers of five beautiful children [combined]—three delightful boys and two very special little girls! Children truly are a blessing from the Lord.

Also, on this day . . . sixteen years ago, my husband, Bob, asked me to marry him. It was after a very long day and I was very tired. I had been a wedding coordinator for a Hawaiian couple and I needed to be a delicate arbitrator for a few small details. There were lots and lots of decorations to help take down and put away. My feet ached and I was exhausted. My hubby who was not yet my hubby had helped with many details and crawled around on the platform wiring for sound and making changes as part of the tech crew. I knew that he was tired also. So when at a late dinner, he said, “Will you marry me?” I responded in somewhat of a tired exasperated way, “Yes. I already told you, yes.” After that he dug a beautiful diamond ring out of his pocket that he had been carrying around all day. I was very surprised and immediately changed my attitude. He told me how hard it had been to wait until dinner to ask me. Oh my, I am so thankful that he didn’t change his mind. We wanted to share our excitement with someone and so we went and told Paul and D’Ann, my first husband’s brother and his wife. We knew that they would be glad with us.


Here is a picture of us when we were much younger, celebrating our engagement.

I’ve been remembering my son’s birthdays . . . the cakes. . .


Cubs games. . . and lots more . . .



I am very grateful for my husband who still loves me though he knows me and my flaws so very well.

September 9th . . . On this day, I like to remember.