How did all of this happen? Well, it’s Janet Starcevich (née Bourgeois) fault. She fb messaged me on 03/09/15. Janet was sitting at her husband’s hospital bed and throwing a long net. She caught me. And then in Feb. of this year, I heard from Catherine Adde. She lives just up the street from my Mommy/Julie on Canyon Crest. And somehow we stared talking about getting together with other Sierra Mesa girls. It seemed so simple.
I come down to my old home town once a year. I get in my little car, go to Oakland Airport, get on a Southwest flight and go to Burbank Airport. This is the easiest flight in the world. Katherine E. Jenkins (the previously mentioned Mommy) has her birthday on May 3rd. The Kentucky Derby is run on the first Saturday of May. What do these two days have in common? Somewhere in the beautifully twisted DNA of my mother’s family is a gene for the love of horses. My Aunt Esther had it, Uncle Danny had it and Uncle Sam was a bookie. My sister Julie read every book on horses by the great Marguerite Henry. Every first weekend in May I come back to the house in the Upper Canyon to celebrate my mother and to watch the horses run.
In previous years, we used to cram ourselves up into my old bedroom, the smallest room of the house, because that’s where the old big TV was. We crammed ourselves into that little room with the big screen so Mommy could see the race. There is now a much bigger and easier-to-move screen in the living room.
And there is a piece of the rub. You see, if the big TV is down in the living room, where it is comfy and warm and the old lady can hold court, why shouldn’t we just watch horses run all day? Well, we did and it was so luxurious. But other people needed me. Catherine needed me. I promised to call her and meet up at her mom’s house. I didn’t, I was watching the horses with my Mommy and Sestra for which there is no excuse.
My sister and I finally tore ourselves away and went down to Claro’s Arcadia. I had ordered two trays from our favorite Italian deli to take to the party, more about that later. I gave my name and the lovely young man said they didn’t have the order. The order was in San Gabriel. I started to get testy because the website didn’t tell me that it went directly and only to the San Gabriel store. When I called I said I wanted to pick up at Arcadia, three times. The same lovely young man said he could do the trays in about ten minutes. And so he did. We were out of the store in time to get to Catherine’s parents’ place by 2. I just adore good customer service.
We got up to the party house right at 2 and dropped off the completely unnecessary trays. The table in the dining/family room was already groaning under the offerings of 20 middle aged women. This party was going to be grand but what was it doing at Catherine’s parents house and not at Mommy’s? Very simple, look at the numbers. My sister’s beautiful side garden can, with its delightful Mission style fountain, hold about ten people, 13 at a stretch. And we don’t have enough chairs. By the week before the party/reunion the guest list hovered around 20. How did this happen? The answer has everything to do with the glorious and organized Catherine. In real life she is a very important and high end travel agent.
Sweet Jesus Catherine knows how to throw a party. She offered her parent’s house once the tally went over 15. I keep on talking about the party without defining it. What I first thought of as a get together with Catherine and Nancie and anyone else who was in the area that day. It became the grand gathering of women from as far north as Janesville, as far east as South Lake Tahoe. Debra and I came from the East Bay and Karen (pronounced: Kahren) from Los Osos. And they came because Catherine asked them. She set up the FB group, she was the contact, she was the hostess extraordinaire who made this all happen. And this was the Sierra Mesa School Girls Reunion.
I showed up with my ancient Mother. She had been asked for by several of the attending ladies. Janet’s and Catherine’s mothers were also in attendance. There was Karen Veblen, there was Linda Kunahiro and Janet Shapiro and Shelly Johnson and and and. It was pure heaven.
They were so sweet to me and sang the round that my mother taught me and I seem to have taught the rest. It was a splendid party.
Go to parties,my sweets. Meet old friends, tell old stories and figure out who you are now.
You never know what will happen.
(this is Janet, ain’t she gorgeous?)
I come down to my old home town once a year. I get in my little car, go to Oakland Airport, get on a Southwest flight and go to Burbank Airport. This is the easiest flight in the world. Katherine E. Jenkins (the previously mentioned Mommy) has her birthday on May 3rd. The Kentucky Derby is run on the first Saturday of May. What do these two days have in common? Somewhere in the beautifully twisted DNA of my mother’s family is a gene for the love of horses. My Aunt Esther had it, Uncle Danny had it and Uncle Sam was a bookie. My sister Julie read every book on horses by the great Marguerite Henry. Every first weekend in May I come back to the house in the Upper Canyon to celebrate my mother and to watch the horses run.
In previous years, we used to cram ourselves up into my old bedroom, the smallest room of the house, because that’s where the old big TV was. We crammed ourselves into that little room with the big screen so Mommy could see the race. There is now a much bigger and easier-to-move screen in the living room.
And there is a piece of the rub. You see, if the big TV is down in the living room, where it is comfy and warm and the old lady can hold court, why shouldn’t we just watch horses run all day? Well, we did and it was so luxurious. But other people needed me. Catherine needed me. I promised to call her and meet up at her mom’s house. I didn’t, I was watching the horses with my Mommy and Sestra for which there is no excuse.
My sister and I finally tore ourselves away and went down to Claro’s Arcadia. I had ordered two trays from our favorite Italian deli to take to the party, more about that later. I gave my name and the lovely young man said they didn’t have the order. The order was in San Gabriel. I started to get testy because the website didn’t tell me that it went directly and only to the San Gabriel store. When I called I said I wanted to pick up at Arcadia, three times. The same lovely young man said he could do the trays in about ten minutes. And so he did. We were out of the store in time to get to Catherine’s parents’ place by 2. I just adore good customer service.
We got up to the party house right at 2 and dropped off the completely unnecessary trays. The table in the dining/family room was already groaning under the offerings of 20 middle aged women. This party was going to be grand but what was it doing at Catherine’s parents house and not at Mommy’s? Very simple, look at the numbers. My sister’s beautiful side garden can, with its delightful Mission style fountain, hold about ten people, 13 at a stretch. And we don’t have enough chairs. By the week before the party/reunion the guest list hovered around 20. How did this happen? The answer has everything to do with the glorious and organized Catherine. In real life she is a very important and high end travel agent.
(This was us in 1967. Some of us were in another full 6th grade class because this was the Baby Boom and our school needed 1 1/2 classes each of 5th & 6th grade. Look hard at the photo of Miss Cade. She was as glamorous as a Vegas showgirl. She drove a Mustang and went away on Easter vacation with that black hair and came back a platinum blonde.)
I showed up with my ancient Mother. She had been asked for by several of the attending ladies. Janet’s and Catherine’s mothers were also in attendance. There was Karen Veblen, there was Linda Kunahiro and Janet Shapiro and Shelly Johnson and and and. It was pure heaven.
They were so sweet to me and sang the round that my mother taught me and I seem to have taught the rest. It was a splendid party.
Go to parties,my sweets. Meet old friends, tell old stories and figure out who you are now.
You never know what will happen.
1 comment:
Elizabeth, you were a class act back then, and that continues to today.
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