We (my mom, Arlene, & I) were invited over to dinner on the Friday before Labor Day to some friends of hers who had lived in Mill Valley. One of Jim’s hobbies, outside of generally being outrageous, is collecting limerics. He has amassed them on his computer, and will be delighted to print out a huge stack of them for you. He had mixed up a big pitcher of some beverages that would have been Manhattans if they were made with rye whisky, but which he called Limericks because they were made with Irish whisky instead. Whatever, they were enough to make me glad it was a long time between before dinner and time to drive home.
At this point, about three weeks later, I don’t remember any of the repartee; probably just as well, because I’m sure it wouldn’t be quite as funny without the (liquid) limericks.
One high point was that Carol, who had once taught at my high school, had a copy of my year’s yearbook. I had tried to find my copy before the trip. It must be in a carton at the bottom of a stack of cartons in a corner of our attic, because I couldn’t find any sign of it. I enjoyed looking at the old pictures of the people I had seen a week before. Even better were the pictures of some of the girls in the classes behind me.