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For whatever reason, this has been “the summer of Jell-O” at our house. It started back in spring/early summer when we had some Jell-O salad left over after some event; I don’t remember just what exactly. As Bob and I both enjoyed the leftovers the next couple of days, something clicked with both of us and we began making a big bowl full of Jell-O with canned fruit every week. All summer. And we’re still going. Haven’t tired of it yet. It’s just refreshing, and we have enjoyed the various flavors and fruits stirred in. I say “we” are making it because I have written out instructions, starting with “boil water,” for Bob to make it, which he has. To say we are on a roll, making Jell-O at least 20 weeks in a row would not be an exaggeration; in fact, that’s probably on the low side. Remains to be seen whether we continue this through winter; I don’t know. We don’t want to get to the point where we never want to eat Jell-O We recently traveled “home” to Goessel for our 50th Class Reunion. Seriously. Count ‘em... Fifty years since we graduated from Goessel High School. I am going to have to quit denying it soon—we. are. old. But anyway, we had a wonderful time with our classmates, gathering in a barn that has been converted to a gathering place. Of the 37 graduates in our class, five of our friends have passed away. Another seven chose not to attend or were unable to come, such as one dear classmate, now living on the West Coast and suffering with MS. Everyone’s senior pictures, which had been enlarged to black-and-white 8 x 10s, were hanging from the barn’s rafters. While some of our number actually don’t look much different, there were a few others that have changed quite a bit. Silvery-white hair will do that to a person. Only one classmate kind of had me stumped as to his identity. Being seriously overweight can do that to a person. Teachers were also invited; we had five of them share the evening with us. Considering we have always been known as “THAT class,” I’d say it was amazing to have five teachers WANT to come spend an evening with our class. One teacher, now 80 years old, drove (with his daughter) from their home in Canada. It was a very special evening of visiting, catching up with the “where do you live now?” and “have you retired?” questions and answers, as well as reminiscing about “the good ol’ days.” In true geriatric fashion, we all forgot to discuss when shall we get together again and who will make the plans. Perhaps we are closing in on the age when our get-togethers will be at each other’s funerals.
