In 2019 it was time for our fifty-year, class reunion for the class of 1969. I had missed the last reunion because I was in Japan, so I was very eager for this one. So eager that I told the planning committee I would be home (in Grantsville) on a given day and would attend the planning meeting to help plan if they met that day. They did and I loved every minute of the planning and carrying out of our plans.
At that reunion, we voted to meet once a year on the 3rd Saturday of August for a carry-in dinner at Camp Hickory behind the High School. We had no idea what was in store for us and the rest of the world, or that Covid would keep us from meeting for three years.
This year we jumped through Camp Hickory’s substantial hoops, and two of my classmates, Vicki and Karen, who have remained my dear friends, and I went about the process of notifying our classmates and making plans. About 17 of us, including spouses, met last Saturday, August 20, 2022, for our first annual casual reunion.
Sam flew from Texas to join us, and one of my best friends in high school, Terri, and her husband, Phil, who also graduated with us, drove from Fulton, Missouri. This told me I wasn’t the only one who was longing to be together. What a delight it was to mingle and chat with those who came. We had a time of sharing when we each told about what we’d been doing for the past 52 years—where we’d lived and worked, and how many children if any. Also, if we had it to do over, would we do anything different? I personally came away from that sharing time feeling closer to my classmates than ever before.
Donn and I stayed with our dear friend, Karen, who also had been good friends with Terri in high school. Terri and Phil stayed in the area until Monday, so we had more opportunities to socialize with them during the weekend. There had been a period of 35 years where distance and life situations had kept us from seeing Terri and Phil, so reuniting with them at our 50th and again last weekend was such a sweet, sweet pleasure!
On Sunday we had the privilege of joining Sunday School fellowship time and worship at Meadow Mountain Mennonite Church, where my brother, Ron, pastors and leads worship. His wife, Lola, and his daughters, my precious nieces, had cooked dinner and ate with us in the church basement. I’ve always been thankful that my brother and all three of his children stayed in my home area so that when I go “home,” I usually get to see some of them as well.
On Monday we ate at Penn Alps where I worked as a waitress when I was a teenager, and then headed for the Grantsville Library to set up for our book event. Suddenly Donn said, “Oh, did you plan to bring tablecloths for the tables?”
I groaned, knowing that I had forgotten my tablecloths and also knowing that the last time we’d been in Grantsville, we’d discovered the grocery store was closed! Fortunately, Donn had noticed a Dollar Store quite close to the library where we could buy plastic tablecloths.
We had barely arrived at the library and carried in everything we needed for the book event when a sweet-faced young woman approached and asked us, “What are you doing?”
“We’re getting ready for a book signing,” I explained.
“Oh, I didn’t even know about this. I have to go find my daughter!” She hurried off in search of her daughter.
I didn’t know why it was important to find her daughter, but Donn and I proceeded to open the package and put the tablecloth on the table the library provided. In a few minutes, mother and teenage daughter joined us. Although I’m not easily distracted from setting up for a book signing, I sensed that this was important. They explained to me that this thirteen-year-old young woman was very interested in writing. As we talked, the daughter noticed my book, Homespun Faith, on the table and said, “Look, Mom, her name is Daisy!”
I looked at the book, then at them, not understanding the significance. I asked, “Is your name Daisy?”
Her mother responded, “No, her name is Jessalyn, but we call her Daisy J.”
Jessalyn added, “Look, it’s even in my email address.” She showed me that her email address contained the word, “Daizy.”
I sent Donn to the car to bring in the scrapbook of my early writing and published work to encourage Jessalyn. Donn basically set up my book table (a first) while I talked with Jessalyn and her mom. Eventually, someone else came to buy a book, so I exchanged contact information with mother and daughter and had Donn take a picture of Daisy J and me before they left.
As I signed a book for my friend, Ruth, an older lady came into the library clutching a copy of Homespun Faith. I smiled a welcome at her as she patiently waited. Did I know this woman? I had met four or five ladies about her age at my brother’s church the day before and I didn’t want to embarrass myself by not recognizing her!
When I was free, I asked the newcomer, “Have we met?”
She smiled and said, “We met many years ago.”
I madly searched my brain but came up empty. So she added, “We met when you were in high school.”
Donn joined in the guessing game. “Were you one of her teachers?”
She acknowledged that she was. I was sure I’d been told that the only teacher she reminded me of, Miss Wucik, was in a nursing home not doing well. So I guessed a different teacher who knew I was writing, even though this woman looked nothing like her.
“No, I’m not Mrs. Yunker.” She smiled, enjoying this guessing game.
Finally, because I had no other guesses, I said, “Are you Miss Wucik?”
Still not ready to help me out of my predicament, she smiled and said, “Am I?”
I gazed at her, trying to see the woman who had taught me so much, more than fifty years ago. Then she smiled and said softly, “They say the voice never changes.”
Immediately, I recognized the voice which had dictated for our shorthand drills so many times. I threw my arms around her and said, “You are Miss Wucik!”
What a wonderful surprise to have the opportunity to thank this woman who had taught me Business English, Shorthand, and Bookkeeping—skills that I have used my entire life. Miss Wucik had a cane so we insisted she sit down so we could talk. She had also taught my sister, Lucy, and said of her, “She was brilliant and a real whiz at shorthand.” Once again it was as though we were operating on some sort of schedule that God had ordained and no one else came as Miss Wucik and I visited.
Some time later, a classmate who hadn’t been able to come to the reunion arrived with a friend. Miss Wucik had taught Sally typing, and they shared a hug as well and chatted with us until another classmate and his wife arrived. I introduced them as well.
At the reunion Karen had asked me to tell the class what I was doing on Monday, and Roger’s wife, Patty, had told me she was going to come if she could. But I hadn’t expected Roger and was especially pleased that he’d chosen to come with his wife.
Eventually, I signed Miss Wucik’s book which she told me she’d purchased on the Internet. She said, “I’m not real good at using the Internet but I did it!” She added, “Right now your book is interfering with me doing my housework!” I knew that was her way of saying it was holding her interest.
I had planned to have Donn take my picture with Miss Wucik but somehow in the comings and goings, I forgot! We even stopped at her house the next day to try again but she wasn’t home.
Soon after Miss Wucik left, our 12th grade English teacher, Joanna Miller, who is also my friend, arrived and then my friend, Karen. We went back to the room where my book talk was to take place. It was such a wonderful time of fellowship and conversation, it truly was hard to tell where the reunion had ended the book event had begun. Later, we took Karen to Penn Alps where she had dinner and Donn and I had dessert.
As I’ve said before, writing is a very solitary occupation, and apparently I sometimes just need a lengthier period of socialization than usual. I was looking forward to the weekend, but had no idea that God had planned to, as the 23rd Psalm says, use it to restore my soul. I came away so refreshed. I’m thankful that God knows exactly what our souls need, even when we don’t.
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures, He leads me beside the still waters, He restores my soul…” (Psalm 23:1-3)