When it is time to check in after being gone a while, a lot is blown in the door with you. Such is the case with me. I will be posting about several topics that make me taste sunshine on my tongue.
This post is about going home. Home in this sense is where I was born, Jefferson, Iowa. My sister still lives there. And my high school class is one that has great folks who organize class reunions because we like to go back for them. So it is a time for visiting; visiting lots and lots of relatives and friends. Some I haven't seen for three years (the last time I was in Iowa), some for five years (our 40th class reunion), and some for many more years than I can remember (cousins, classmates, shirt-tail relatives).
The first time I went back home after moving to California, I found myself sliding broadside down a highway on a cliff above the Mississippi River. That was when I firmly decided I was not going to go home to Iowa in the winter ever again. Consequently, I looked forward to the warm Iowa June. Didn't happen: cool, overcast, spotty rain. Okay, just like home (California).
Maybe you have never attended a class reunion, but when you do, it is talk, talk, talk. My friend Mary Jo has graciously offered her home for the last two get-togethers. We spend Friday night reacquainting ourselves. Where is home, retirement, and grandchildren are big topics of conversation these days.
On Saturday morning we muster again at Mary Jo's for Marianne's prize winning cinnamon rolls and sticky buns and coffee before getting on our tractor pulled unit of the Bell Tower Festival Parade. We wave and shout to people we know and don't know, and toss candy to the kids on the sidelines. Lunch is usually a casual affair with close friends. Supper is catered at the old Greene County Golf and Country Club. We stay late, laugh a lot, do a cheer, maybe, twirl a baton, and are serenaded goodnight by one of the original Bushmen.
Living in a city of over 50,000 you rarely run into someone you know. But in a city of 4500 you are more likely to see many people you know; or more precisely, knew you from when you were a kid or your parents. I experienced that several times in the space of a few days.
I got to chat quickly with Phyl, spend a few hours with Jo, and have lunch with my Aunt Barbara, Uncle Dale, Uncle Lloyd, and several cousins. Many of us had not seen each other in years. I also got to have lunch with my cousin Judy and her husband Bob. We practically grew up together less than a quarter mile away from each other.
Summer in Iowa also means new kitties to hold and cuddle; to shower them with love and attention and hope they come up to you again when they get a little older.
