Between doctor’s appointments, trips to Mayo, MRIs, and CT scans I have time to contemplate my life. Mostly things in my past. It must be my age. It’s also been a blessing tho, since my diagnosis, many old friends have reached out and we reconnected. I appreciate all the prayers, cards and texts.
I even had the honor of spending time with my Hallmark-card-college-roommate Karen. Years have passed and we remain friends. She sends me cards of encouragement and we promised to not allow so much time to go by before we see each other again. We also agreed to talk about all the studying we did in college. (Insert smiley face here.)
Time passes so quickly that it seems like yesterday I was running around Gackle as a teenager. Here we are, a 50-year reunion on July 6. Our class has never had a “reunion.” There was an all-class gathering during the centennial celebration in 2004. I missed it. I’m sorry I did because it would have been the last chance to see several people who have since passed away.
My schooling began in a two-room schoolhouse in Fredonia. There were four grades in each classroom. From there, a bus stopped in town and whisked the high schoolers away to Kulm.
We walked to school on gravel roads. Most days, when the weather was nice, we walked across the field between our house and the school. In wintertime when snow covered the hills, we still walked across the fields. There was no lunch program, so we walked home for lunch. The only exception was when my mom had to be gone during the day (seldom did that happen), and she packed our lunch.
It was a treat to have a banana, a can of Vienna sausages, or a sandwich carried in a brown paper sack.
On Fridays, when we dared to ask our dad for a nickel, we stopped at the grocery store for a double-dip cone of ice cream and ate it before we reached the school’s playground.
We dressed for the weather because recess was nearly always outdoors, even in winter. There were a few days I remember being in the dingy basement of the two-story school playing games with a ball. It must have been way below zero on those days.
Every morning two students were tasked with raising the flag, and we all said the pledge of allegiance before beginning lessons. At day’s end, the flag was properly folded and stored safely. The chalkboards were erased and the erasers were taken outdoors so the chalk dust could be pounded out of them.
The desks were worn and stained from past students and contained our school supplies.
I loved the white paste. It took willpower not to eat it all before it was used on construction paper projects. Paper and pencils were scarce, and I cherished every one I could get my hands on. Crayons were also a treat. Most sought after was graph paper, a love that carried to my days as Sue B. Weaves. Weavers design on graph paper.
When I was twelve years old, we moved to Gackle. What a change. The big city. Paved roads. A Main Street with all kinds of businesses and seven churches. The old three-story school with two newer wings for elementary classes.
We still walked to school every day. There was music, drama club, yearbook group, and yes, I was a cheerleader.
Back then, teachers were always right, students were disciplined; trucks had gun racks with guns and no one cared that we ran around town in summer or winter until bedtime. Licorice and sunflower seeds were .25 a bag, and there was enough to share with three or four friends while walking around the entire town on a summer evening.
It will be fun to catch up with old classmates after all this time. We will miss those that are no longer with us. Considering I graduated from a class with 28, we will notice their absence.
In my meditations, I am wondering if it’s at all possible when we reach heaven that we are allowed to go back to experience one of those days and the smells, the sounds, the sights, and the laughter of those seemingly simple days of our youth.
INDYchildrendotme 
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