Tonight is my reunion–the Woodrow Wilson High School class of 1968. Camden, New Jersey. Fifty years. I’m ready.
I bought a simple black dress and I have kept it free from grandchildren mess, dog and cat hair. That’s about all that’s needed. A little black dress. I should feel perfectly confident. Maybe I don’t.
Will I recognize my classmates and will they recognize me? I told my daughter, an oh-so-youthful thirty-five, that I wish that I was young again and then that new dress would look even better on me at the reunion.
She laughed. “Your classmates will be your age, too!”
I guess so.
But, I imagine them as I knew them as teen-agers in high school and now I know myself as, shall we say, a more mature person in retirement. Certainly no teen-ager. Maybe this morning they, too, are thinking of how age has changed them. I’m going to say–for the better!
All of us who can make it to the party are blessed that we have the health, the money, the time and the opportunity to get together. No one is going to care if someone has grandchildren’s yogurt stains, dog or cat hair on their reunion duds. It’s going to be fun just to see each other.
Thanks to all the people who made it happen. Sincerely. It was a lot of work for you.
I’ll get back to you, my readers, with how the event went.
Love from Cramer Hill, yes, I live here in Camden,
Marguerite (Wunsch) Ferra
PS That’s me in the picture…last week at the Bunratty Castle in Ireland. I still have a bit of jet lag. Hopefully, my head won’t fall in the dinner plate tonight.