Past and Present

This must be my month for remembering. In the past month, I've reconnected with cousins I had not seen in 50+ years, touched base (and scheduled a lunch) with a friend who I've missed for about five years, and received a phone call from a friend from elementary school (and college) who was calling to drum up support for our 50th reunion. What is this--connect-with-Mary month?

I am not one for backward looks--which probably explains these gaps in the first place. If I don't hear from someone, I may make a few efforts--but if none bear fruit, I move on. And sometimes forget to try again later.

I have already written about my cousins. The second encounter is a little fraught, and I will wait to write about that reunion, but--my college reunion is fair game.

I've known Liz since fifth grade. We both went to St. Anthony's School, endured the same scary nuns, knew a lot of the same kids, remember embarrassing facts about them (did I ever tell anyone about John Frankenberger in first grade?) and probably both hope that we've forgotten the ones about each other. We knew who the bad kids were, and who the good kids were, and how to be counted among the latter (for we both were good little Catholic girls..) We missed each other's high school years, attending rival girls' high schools, but met up again in college at Mt. St. Agnes. In fact, she rode to school with me several days a week because it helped with the gas money for my poor Rambler American, which needed all the help it could get.

She called me today out of the blue; I suppose it was to recruit me for the reunion in April (for which she was hosting the pre-party), but I don't think we ever got around to why she called.  It wasn't really necessary, since my reservations were already made, and I'd spoken to others on the committee. But call she did, saying she'd called me first because she knew me the longest. Absolutely true. I count our connection at about 62 years, give or take. You can only imagine how much catching up we had to do: the what-ever-happened-tos and where-are-they-nows and have-you-heard-abouts. Not to mention the old stories about third grade teachers and much-loved college professors. We talked for over an hour about families and what we were doing and had done and how our experiences had intersected over the years...or didn't. We ranged from lacrosse (a boy we knew who played lacrosse before anyone even knew what the sport was in Baltimore) to those friends who had passed on or disappeared from view,  to teachers we'd shared (and feared), to her family's business (the much-beloved Woodlea Bakery, where everyone went for their doughnuts on Sunday morning after church--and their cheesecake whenever they were lucky enough to get it), to my sojourn in California, to hers in Pennsylvania, to brothers and sisters and their adventures...To say we traveled far and wide was an understatement. Two-thirds of a lifetime to reconstruct: a daunting morning's work.

It was great fun, and a great reminder of our own good fortune, in spite of a few blips along the way. It really is a good life. Thanks, Lizzie, for making me remember.