Category: Celebrations

The Rainbow Connection

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

400px-double-alaskan-rainbowIt’s my birthday today which is no doubt why I have been rather nostalgic this week. I’ve found my thoughts returning to my mother and father who taught me so many worthy lessons, sometimes just through their actions rather than their words. Truth be told I owe so much to them starting with my very existence. After all my story would never even have commenced were it not for their love and willingness to share it with one another and then with me and my brothers.

They were so very young when they decided to take on the world together. They were still kids who had only a vague idea of what they wanted their lives to be. When I was born couple of years after they married my mother was twenty two and my father twenty five. We lived in rented apartments while my father finished his education at Texas A&M. Both of them doted on me. I don’t exactly remember their attention but old black and white photographs confirm my belief that I was loved.

My mother kept track of my milestones in a baby book that bears her carefully crafted notations on my progress. She kept every card and photo from my early days in an album that I still have. I sense her joy on those pages and see that the love that surrounded me came not just from my parents but from a great big extended family and a host of friends. That love became the foundation on which my character was built brick by brick.

My father wasn’t around for very long. By the time I was eight years old he had died. I never forgot how much he enjoyed reading and those wonderful moments when he would sit on the couch sharing his favorite stories and poems with me while we snuggled. I suppose that my own love of books was born in those moments and it has been a way for me to keep his essence alive in my mind.

He was a man who did many things very well. He loved to fish like his mother and never came home from an expedition without a stringer full of catches that Mama would fry up for countless dinners. He was an artist with handwriting and printing that rivaled the monks of old who copied manuscripts. He built models of houses and buildings, miniature versions with tiny details. He was a student of history with a memory for facts and dates that was uncanny. He had many friends whom he entertained with an endless round of jokes. Most of all he loved his Texas Aggies with unquestioned loyalty. Weekends in the fall were devoted to following their football games on the radio with his best buddy, Lloyd.

He was a conscientious man who arose early each morning to go to work so that his family might enjoy a good life. In the evenings he loved to share stories while we ate. He was so in love with my mother and very proud of me and my brothers. Still he had a kind of adventurous itch that came from constantly moving when he was a boy as his father searched for construction work. Somehow he was never quite content with the idea of settling down. He always seemed to be dreaming of travel and the next move. I suppose that it was only fitting that he would be out and about on a summer evening driving aimlessly in his car when he went into a ditch and died instantly.

My mother had a childlike innocence about her. She was the youngest of eight children and had been adored by her entire family. She was a bit spoiled but in a good way. She was always self assured and certain of herself. She was a romantic who was madly in love with my father. She enjoyed her life as a homemaker and mother, never having any desire to venture from the home in search of work. She was fulfilled in the role that she had dreamed of living. She had already been an administrative assistant to a judge and a dean of engineering. She was proud of her work but did not need it to feel good about herself. She thought that she would always be a stay at home wife and mother and she did that job as well as she had done virtually everything that she had ever attempted. When my father died she was only thirty years old with three very young children. She was heartbroken in a way that would never completely heal. She dug deep inside her soul and found the strength that she needed to carry on. I know that from that point forward me and my brothers were the focus of her life. There was nothing else that mattered more to her.

She struggled financially and eventually realized that she would have to find a job. She earned a college degree and became a teacher all while somehow managing to run a household and insuring me and my brothers that we would still have a normal life. Her energy seemed boundless and her optimism was infectious. She was an angel in every possible way who was beloved by all who knew her. Our home was always brimming with friends and family who enjoyed her warmth and effervescence. Even though she worried incessantly about finances she never let on to us. She used to tell us that she had a money tree in the backyard and that Jesus loved widows and fatherless children so much that He would always make sure that we had what we needed.

Eventually the stress of being so many things to so many people caught up with her. She developed severe systems of mental illness and my role and hers switched places from time to time. I had to learn how to care for her whenever the depression and mania of that disease took hold. Somehow she never allowed her illness to change her always loving and hopeful spirit nor to steal her innocence. One of her favorite songs was Rainbow Connection from The Muppet Movie. Whenever she heard it tears would form in her eyes and she would smile. The song spoke to who she was as a person.

So as I celebrate on this anniversary of my entrance into this life I think of my parents and the gifts that they gave me that began the evolution of who I am as a person. I am a unique amalgam of each of them along with other traits that I picked up along the way. I am thankful that God chose those two people to create me. They both taught me how to love unconditionally, find strengths within and how to open my heart and my mind to the world. They gave me curiosity and optimism, joy and resilience. They showed me how to look forward and to trust in the goodness of the people who surround me. I’m so very glad that they gave me an opportunity to live and to celebrate the beauty of existence. They were lovers and dreamers who showed me how to find the rainbow connection.

A Very Thanksgiving Treat

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

elliott-pecansI always loved visiting my grandmother’s house in November. She was sure to have enamel bowls filled with tangerines and pecans. Usually it was just chilly enough to warrant using her ceramic gas heater to warm the living room. It always felt so cozy being there with my aunts and uncles and many cousins. I came to associate such things with the month of November. To this very day I have to have tangerines in my refrigerator and fresh pecans in my pantry when the eleventh month rolls around. It just doesn’t seem to feel right without them.

My Aunt Opal made pumpkin pie all year round but unless it was November we were never certain that she would have any available when we came to visit. Not so, in November. She never failed to have one ready for us whenever we chose to spend time with her then. Hers were absolutely the best that I have ever tasted. She didn’t even need a recipe to whip one up. The directions were all in her head. I used to love watching her roll out the pie dough and mix the ingredients for the filling. She always had some interesting story to tell us while her weathered hands did their work. I can still see her working the dough with her old rolling pin and stirring the creamy mixture that would gel into pure deliciousness. My mouth waters just thinking about it.

My mother liked to take the pecans that were so plentiful in November and bake them up into a pie. She transformed those nuts into a delectable southern delight. She was rather famous for her special recipe. I recall a time when she took one of her pies to a party and placed it next to a pecan pie that somebody else had prepared. When a friend of mine heard that one of Mama’s famous creations was there she rushed in to claim a piece before the dessert was gone. She took one bite and spit it back on the plate exclaiming, “This isn’t your mom’s pie! Where did this come from?” Luckily the baker of the less tasty treat wasn’t around to hear her insult but my mother had caught the gist of the conversation and quickly came to the rescue with a slice of her pie. From then on my friend always checked to be certain that she was getting nobody else’s pecan pie but Mama’s.

Yesterday after visiting with my in-laws my husband and I ventured over to the Airline farmer’s market. We were greeted by the sound of the nut cracking machine that was busy opening pounds and pounds of fresh pecans. It is a sound that I have heard each November for as long as I can remember. It tells me that my birthday is coming soon and that Thanksgiving is just around the corner. Its click clack is so comforting. It is much like hearing a train rumbling down the tracks in the dark of night. It is a link to some of the most wondrous times in my past.

While at the market I also saw a huge display of tangerines. I rushed over immediately to fill a bag. The aroma of citrus filled my senses and told me that I will be enjoying juicy fruit in the coming days. I feel content in knowing that I am able to find such delightful items so close to my home.

We really do live in a land of plenty. I had a friend who grew up in Germany at the same time that I was experiencing a childhood in the United States. He often spoke of playing in the rubble of his city of Bremen which had been bombed continuously during World War II. He developed scurvy because of the lack of vitamin C. For most of his lifetime fruits and vegetables were a luxury. He told of a time when an aunt had a single tomato to share with the family and how it was prized as a precious delicacy. Each person took a thin slice and ate it as though it was pure gold. When he eventually moved to the United States he was astounded by the abundance that we all enjoyed. He never lost his appreciation for our country and the wealth that it provided him.

My mother always told me that her parents saw themselves as being rich simply because they always had good food on the table. They turned their backyard into a garden and raised animals for milk and meat. Even during the Great Depression they always had good meals created by my grandmother. Nothing was ever wasted. Even bones and peelings were boiled for broth for soups and seasonings. When the family ate fish my grandmother would consume the head and give the more savory parts to her children.

We sometimes forget how precious food was for our ancestors and rarely think about people in other parts of the world who are starving even as we fill garbage trucks with mountains of food that might otherwise save a life. We take our food for granted and rarely realize our good fortune in having a lovely orange or a bowl of nuts. We don’t want to think about small children with bloated bellies who are wracked with pain because they do not have enough sustenance. Thanksgiving simply doesn’t have the same meaning when we have never known want as it might feel like to truly experience grinding hunger.

In November I am thankful that my mother like her mother always found a way to keep our stomachs full. Sometimes our dinner was little more than a bowl of pinto beans but there was something on our table to sustain us even when our cupboard seemed to be bare. I often took egg sandwiches to school for lunch. At the time it embarrassed me because there were often complaints about the smell. Sometimes I chose not to eat rather than reveal my strange repast. I now think of how silly I was, especially when I consider the millions of people who would have thought themselves most fortunate to have something so tasty and wholesome to eat. In so many ways I have been spoiled.

It is in the small things that we feel the most delight. For me the tangerines, pecans and pumpkins that were the treats of my childhood Novembers are still a special treasure. When I eat them they are more than just tasty. They are ways of tangibly remembering some of the most happy times of my childhood and the special people who made it so. I can see my grandmother’s smile as she watches me enjoy a tangerine with the juice running down my chin as I laugh with my cousins. I can hear my Aunt Opal telling us wondrous tales as she shoves a pumpkin pie into the oven. I recall my mother whispering her secret recipe for making the best pecan pies. The taste of the food on my tongue jogs my memory and releases happy feelings that tell me just how wonderful my life has always been. It really is a great time of year to be thankful as I remember and appreciate.

The Horror

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

halloweenWhen I was kid Halloween was a rather simple event. I’d put a witch hat on my head or cut some holes in an old white sheet and masquerade as a ghost. My costumes were made from the cloth of my imagination and whatever I had on hand. My mother would save a brown paper bag from her grocery shopping that I used to hold the goodies that I collected from my neighbors. If I was feeling especially inspired I’d take the time to draw some jack-o-lanterns on it with my box of crayons. Mostly though I’d just grab a sack and head out to trick-or-treat with my friends. It was all so uncomplicated and innocent back then. We trusted everyone and were usually right in our belief that we would be safe. There were a few urban tales that warned us of razor blades and needles inserted into apples so I always threw such offerings into the trash but mostly there was little mischief other than our childish attempts to scare each other with ghost stories and such.

When my daughters were young the whole Halloween tradition became a bit more elaborate. I had to purchase costumes for them rather than using what we had around the house. Most of the time they chose the one size fits all flimsy outfits that came in a box along with a big plastic mask that engulfed their tiny faces. The costumes fit like sacks and were usually torn to shreds by the end of the evening because they were made from a substance that resembled paper. The masks were so hot that they usually ended up in the trick-or-treat bags that were a bit fancier than the grocery sacks of my youth. Fear of real horrors became all too real when the “Candyman” from Deer Park, Texas poisoned his son with a pixie stick one Halloween. After that many parents abandoned the old time honored ritual of gathering goodies from house to house. Churches, schools and neighbors began to hold Halloween parties instead. There were some years when hardly any kids came to my house.

Today Halloween is bigger than ever. In some ways it has become as important in the holiday annals as Christmas and Thanksgiving. Entire sections of stores are devoted to displays of decorations, costumes and an array of treats. The children who come to my door wear outfits worthy of a high budget movie. They are decked out in full makeup with wigs and intricately detailed clothing. They bear baskets and sturdy plastic containers rather than the paper bags of old. Sometimes they carry flashlights to help them navigate in the dark. The homes that they visit are decorated with lights, pumpkins, spiderwebs and inflated monsters. Eerie sounds echo across neighborhoods transforming them into spectacular and frightening happenings. The children come by the droves along with their parents who more often than not are also dressed in ornate designs.

This weekend there will no doubt be Halloween parties all across America and most of them will be for adults. I’m not quite sure when grownups laid claim to celebrations that had once been only for children but it is now big business. Perhaps our world has become so uncertain and complex that we enjoy playing make believe if only for a brief time. We dress up and poke fun at our society. We laugh and feel the freedom that we once knew as children. Halloween provides us with an opportunity to display our creativity and an excuse to just be silly like we were in the times before we had to deal with so many responsibilities and so much stress. With the craziness of the election season I suspect that this will be an especially “bigly” year for Halloween. There are so many people and ideas that we might poke a bit with our satire.

This year there are new wrinkles in the festivities. Some people worry that their costume choices might offend. We are told that we should be careful not to appropriate a culture that is not ours. I suspect that being a hobo like I once was might be considered a slam toward those who are poor. I’ve read that some colleges are advising students to avoid wearing sombreros or demonstrating a lack of empathy in choosing what they will wear. It is a new complication that is sure to create some storms of controversy and raise questions before the weekend is over.

It used to be that those who attended Catholic school had a singular advantage associated with Halloween because the following day was All Saints Day, a holy day of obligation that was traditionally a holiday in the parochial schools. Now the students simply go to Mass in the morning and carry on as usual for the remainder of the school day. There is no more holiday in honor of the beloved saints. Traditions are changing all the way around.

I still prefer the simpler ways of approaching Halloween. I have put a jack-o-lantern on my front porch and even have a few lights along the sidewalk but that is as far as I plan to go. I’ll stock up on chocolate bars and other sweet treats and spend a few hours enjoying the children who come to my door. Other than that Halloween will come and go much as it has for most of my life. It is a fun but minor celebration in my annual routines. I sometimes wear a special t-shirt with glittery pumpkins that I purchased at Walmart for five dollars one year just to get into the spirit of things and I almost always find a horror movie to watch, but mostly Halloween is a sign that my truly favorite time of year is near.

I suspect that for most of us nothing is going to be as scary as the coming election. We are all holding our breaths in anticipation of what is coming next. It’s probably good that there is a way to ease our tensions just a bit whether we join friends in ridiculous outfits, gather with laughing children or just shut ourselves away to escape into a world of zombies or haunted houses. Sometimes we’ve just got to get away and Halloween is the perfect vehicle to distract us from the terrors of reality. Here’s hoping that your own way of enjoying the day is “huge,’

Brothers and Sisters For All Time

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

14715452_10210431674649282_4125192097874582664_o-1The dictionary definition of family is “a group of people related by blood or marriage.”  Such a description is far too limiting. We often extend the breadth of our relationships to include special friendships that are as deep and endearing as those we share with our kin. We feel bound to such people by sharing common experiences and traditions. We especially form deep and abiding friendships when we are young. The common history of our youth makes particular people feel like our brothers and sisters. Just as with those who come from our same DNA, the individuals who walk with us day after day for a time may leave, but they are never forgotten. Somehow they live in our hearts even when we do not have them near. Such it is with my family from Mt. Carmel High School.

Fifty years is a very long time, five decades, half a century. When I was a teenager it was difficult to even imagine such a long passage of the calendar but I have indeed walked through those fifty years since my graduation from high school. Before that day of long ago I had spent eight to ten hours five days every week inside a brick and mortar building with the same people. Our journey together lasted four years. We shared the same lessons and traditions. We learned together, laughed together and sometimes even cried together. We cheered for our heroes of the gridiron, baseball diamond, track and basketball court. We slowly discovered the people and the ideas that interested us. We formed circles of friends and lived through all of the adolescent peaks and valleys. We became a family.

In my home away from home I grew from a gangly little girl afraid of her own shadow to a pensive young woman wondering what life had in store for me and my classmates. I wondered about all of those questions that occur to most teens. What would I become? Would I have an exciting career? Would I ever marry? Would I have children? Would I become rich or famous? Would I have a good life? I never thought about death or illness. Those things seemed to be the purview of the old, not something that I would encounter for a very long time.

Life took hold of me and my classmates after we had finished our school days and one year grew into two and then ten, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty. I thought of the people who had been with me in my formative years now and again. I wondered where they were and how they were. I intended to keep up with them but something always seemed to distract me. The phone would ring. One of my children would need my attention. My job would demand my time. My mother would need me to care for her. The excuses always came and so I did not see most of the people who had been so much a part of my life but I never forgot how much they had meant to me.

A couple of years ago along came a beautiful soul that I had known since I was a little girl, Carol. I had been in the Brownies with her and her twin sister, Cindy. We celebrated First Communion together and went all the way through high school only to lose track for all those many years after graduation day. Carol came to some of us almost fifty years later with an idea. She wanted to have a fabulous reunion for our class. It was to be in honor of her sister who had tragically died from ALS. It would be a way to remember Cindy and our other friends who had already left this earth. It would remind us of our youth and the importance of living our lives to the fullest. It would provide us with a way to embrace each other once again.

Carol worked diligently with a group of people determined to find every last soul who had been in the Class of 1966. Terry, Susan, Mickey, Paul, Shirley, Ruth, Judy, Monica, Linda, Jim, Jeannette, Tad, Tommy, Donald and Chris began meeting over a year ago to plan a celebration to remember. Sadly Chris left the world this summer but his impact and generous spirit kept the group inspired. On Saturday night the fruits of this committee’s labors came to fruition as we all gathered together in a love fest that none of us will ever forget.

There were so many stories to share on Saturday night. Some of them were joyful. Others were heartbreaking. I learned of successes and disappointments, happiness and loss. I found that my classmates are people of uncommon conviction, optimism and courage. They have faced down challenges and accomplished great things. They have led the kind of lives that all of us value. They are happy even as they have endured the ups and downs that are inevitable in a span of fifty years. We have all matured and learned what is truly important. We realized in visiting with one another that the ties that bound us so long ago are a special part of whom we will always be. We are truly family in every sense of the word, brothers and sisters for all time.

In the excitement of reuniting we have made promises that we will not let the time run away from us ever again. I hope that we honor that commitment. We have learned that life is precious and fragile and unpredictable and that we must reach out and grab every opportunity to be with the people who were and always will be so important to us. We have always been intertwined even as we branched out in different directions.

Our reunion was a happy and moving experience for all of us. We laughed and cried tears of joy and remembrance. Our celebration was perfect in every way. The love that we felt for one another was palatable and the spirit of our departed friends was ever present. We heard their laughter in our hearts and knew that they were especially happy that we had once again come together. We will forever be grateful for the opportunity that we had to learn that everyone is mostly okay. I’d like to believe that we will have many more chances to come together again. I know that I intend to do all that I can to keep our renewed friendships alive. They are important enough to merit our time and attention. Carol understood that and showed us how it is done.

Let the Celebrating Begin

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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It has been fifty years since the Mt. Carmel High School Class 0f 1966 left the school gymnasium after graduation. We departed with high hopes and good intentions and the clock on our lives began ticking far more quickly than we might have imagined. Some among us served in the military. Others went to college. There were those who married and started families, some who focused on careers. We navigated through the ups and downs of life, experiencing the milestones of human existence. All the while we remembered those years when we were young. Our days in high school had at times been filled with angst and at others with joy. As teenagers we had felt hurts and victories. As full fledged adults we mostly moved past our immaturities and hangups to mellow into acceptance of ourselves just as we are. We became able to gaze into the mirror past all of the flaws and truly like the people that we had become. Somehow all we now need to know about our former classmates is that each among us has found happiness. We have embraced the contentment that comes with wisdom and age and grace.

Tomorrow evening we will gather together for our fiftieth reunion. It will be good to see one another again and to hear the stories of what happened to everyone as the decades passed. Our old friends will be there and some will bring their spouses, people that we have yet to meet but will most surely enjoy. We will view photos of travels, children and grandchildren. We will learn about jobs and hobbies and all of those things that weave together the fabric of our lives. None of us will look the same. Regardless of how well we have aged fifty years leave an imprint on our faces and our outlooks. We are now just as we once were and yet different. The essence of our youthfulness is still in our hearts but our experiences will have changed us.

I lost track of so many people after graduation day. I was busy earning a college degree, raising a family, teaching and caring for my mother who developed chronic mental illness shortly after I had finished high school. Like most people my days were filled with responsibilities from dawn until I fell asleep at night. I had little time for pursuits outside of my family and my work but I have enjoyed a long and lovely friendship with Linda Daigle Scheffler that thankfully continues to this day. Our children grew up together taking swimming lessons, watching football games and celebrating birthdays, graduations, marriages. We have met at Christmas to exchange ornaments and gifts virtually every year since our children were born with few exceptions. Monica Krider Watzak has been by my side from the time that I was a tiny girl. She was one of the first people that I met on the playground in second grade back at Our Lady of Mount Carmel Elementary. Her children also grew up with mine. We have gone on trips together and stood by each other in times both good and bad. Nancy Gracey was one of the bridesmaids in my wedding. We played bridge together on Fridays and finished sentences for each other. She eventually moved away and we lost touch for years only to reunite as though it had only been five minutes since our last meeting. I continue to encounter Susan McKenna Bolduc, another of my bridesmaids, time and again at funerals for classmates and their parents.  Judy Loisey is often there as well demonstrating the same warmth of heart that was her trademark in high school. Of course I also encounter Tommy Darst who has so graciously helped so many Mt. Carmel families during times of greatest sorrow. 

Mostly though I lost track of the one hundred forty three souls with whom I had shared so much during those critical four years of my life. From time to time I heard stories about them but somehow I never crossed paths with them even though I must have surely been moving through the same places where they had been. It was only through the miracle of Facebook that I have slowly  reignited friendships with former classmates, sometimes finding surprising kinship with those that I barely knew when I was young. I have enjoyed reading about their trips and adventures and seeing their beautiful children and grandchildren. I’ve even appreciated the great variety of their political persuasions. Nobody can ever say that we were brainwashed at Mt. Carmel High School. Everyone has a mind of his/her own. Mostly though I have marveled at how wonderful we all became. We are good people who took the lessons that we learned at Mt. Carmel High School to heart no matter where in the world we landed.

I get excited just thinking about the possibility of seeing so many of my classmates tomorrow night. The guest list has swelled to a hundred or more including curious spouses who have no doubt heard so many stories about our Class of 1966. I get both giddy and nervous when I think about seeing them in person again after all these years. 

Even though there were once one hundred forty four of us. Not everyone has made it this far. Before we had even been gone for ten years some among us had already died from cancer or accidents. Others have gone from us more recently. They had hoped to be with us for our celebration but the good Lord saw fit to take them. Each time we have heard of a death among our old friends it has brought us great sadness. We remember when they were so bright and beautiful. We know that they meant so much to their families and to us.

When I was a young mom buying shoes for my little girls Mrs. Lippies used to ask me to pray for her son Kerry who had cancer. Sadly he did not make it. He was one of the first among us to die. I was broken apart when Bill Bailey was killed in a freak accident in Galveston. Not long ago I heard that a colleague of mine at St. Christopher’s School had lost her husband who also happened to be one of my classmates, Frank Fox, a wonderful man who had been so loved by his wife and children. I followed Cindy Cash Criss’s medical progress as she fought ALS. I loved seeing her images of kitties on Facebook and I marveled at her courage and optimism as she dealt with the devastating effects of that terrible disease. I know how much she wanted to make it to the reunion but that was not to be. Instead many of us gathered at her memorial and came together for the first time in years. We knew that she had been the catalyst for beginning our journey to the celebration that we will enjoy tomorrow. Somehow her spirit will be there with us, hoping that we love and laugh the way she always did. Chris Nixon had overcome many heath problems and came faithfully to the early planning meetings for the reunion. He too was called to heaven sooner than we had hoped. Many of us attended his funeral only months ago and cried together for a dear sweet friend.

I had lost track of my friend and high school confidante, Claudia Dean Langguth for well over forty years. When we were teenagers we had shared our deepest secrets and dreams. I had thought that ours would be a lifetime of togetherness but circumstances pulled us apart. When I recently searched for her I learned that she had died only a year ago. I wish that I had been able to tell her how much she had meant to me. I would have liked to let her know that I loved her.

Others who meant much to me are also gone. David Patton and I often competed with one another academically. I knew in my heart that he was my intellectual superior but I would never have admitted that to him. A few years back he began to email me after he had suffered from a stroke. It was sad to know that his brilliant mind had been diminished. I hope that I gave him a bit of comfort with my responses to his communications. I was crushed to learn of his death.

In school our teachers usually seated us in alphabetical order. I sat behind John Kurtz for four years and got to know him well enough to have a secret crush on him. He once told me that his juvenile diabetes would curtail his life prematurely. I was too young and inexperienced to believe that he knew the truth. I shook my head and told him that he was being silly. Unfortunately he was not wrong and left this earth far too soon for such a good man.

The list of those who have already entered the kingdom of God is longer than I would want it to be. There are about twenty four souls who have already died and will be watching over us as we convene this weekend. They will remind us that life is a treasure that we must embrace before the opportunity to do so has left us. In our minds they will be forever young and as lovely and energetic as they were on that May day of long ago when none of us were able to imagine the roads that we would travel or that fifty years would go by so quickly. They are gone but never forgotten. We can still see Janice Repsdorph as the amazing athlete that she always was. We will remember Dorothy Wheeler Cox and her sweet smile and loving presence. In our hearts we’ll think of Diane Martin in all of her glorious beauty and generous spirit. Each of them touched our hearts.

Our lives have been blessed. We are all fine people who have contributed to the benefit of our families, our friends and our communities. We have remembered what is most important and have lived the way our teachers had hoped that we would. When we left on that May in 1966 we understood that we had been called to work for the benefit of all mankind. We have kept the promises that we made. Now it is time to remember and appreciate all of the people who helped us to arrive at this remarkable place in time. Let the celebrating begin.