Day of Celebration

I left the house at 9:20 am to go to church.  Actually, I should say to make preparations in the church kitchen because I am the Fellowship Class hostess and I use the worship service time to get the coffee and set-up ready. 
There is a microphone feed back in the kitchen, so I listen while I move around.
  This is such a nice way to not be sitting still for an hour and 20 minutes.
There was a mini-reception with cookies and punch and the coffee.  A couple of our lady members are going out of state.  One will be a teacher on a Hopi Indian Reservation, and the other is going to seminary, on her way to becoming a minister. 
Even with cookies and punch, there wasn’t really any difference in how many more dishes went through the machine cycles.  I left them to drain and went home for lunch. 
There is to be a party in the building this Sunday afternoon for a couple celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary.  Actually, their daughters were already putting up decorations when I left, but I did not want to be dealing with all those hot cups straight out of the dishwasher. 
I promised myself I would head back in an hour, but I was distracted by a sidetrip for burning a new picture CD on my computer (to give to someone who would be at the party), and then Chris came home and told us a couple things that had happened at his job, and next thing I look and almost two hours had past.
Rushing back over to the church, I learned that other folks had put away the dishes just fine, or so I hoped.  There was so much going on, and so many other people in the kitchen, I had to take a step back and Breathe.  I was counted as a guest for this affair, so I could mingle with folks I haven’t seen in years.

On the wall was a poster of the family heritage and legacy.  I never did catch how far back the generations went, but I was mighty impressed that someone could do so much research about who is related to who with dates of births and marriages and deaths.  Also that someone would be able to get all those boxes to line up correctly for a computer printout.  On the table were photos in albums or frames, and a Christmas tree with an appropriate ornament for each of the married years.

50th wedding anniversary parties don’t happen often enough.  This was planned by their 4 children, 3 of whom are in their 40s like me, and the youngest, who I met the same month he graduated high school, is almost at that 4-0 himself.  He has a little boy toddler walking around, and a wife so pretty I told him she should be a model, even after having had the baby.
It seems the oldest son had written some skits, portraying different scenes in the couple’s long life together.  And he had asked different folks to do the acting/readings.  From their first blind date to the planning of this party. 
There were chuckles, and tears, and heads nodding in a knowing fashion.

A few songs by an older couple with the man playing a ukulele.  Including one of my favorite John Denver songs.  I was tapping along with my toe; too bad it was on carpet.

A really cool part was when the emcee asked for folks to stand up who had known this couple for 60 years.  Then 50 years, and 40, 30, 20 (include me), counting down to someone who had met them just this afternoon.
There were speeches given by the guy who had been the Best Man, and the sister who was the Maid-of-Honor at their wedding.

The closing was a sort of prayer song sung by a grandson, with his sister accompanying on the piano.  Absolutely lovely.

Then there were Eats.  What they said was a light supper, of bar-b-Q sandwiches, and salads, and fruit.  Followed by Pies of assorted flavors.  Homemade rhubarb raisin, and cherry, and chocolate creme and others.  It looked like a restaurant, only better.

As I was leaving the building, I noticed there was a camera set up on a tripod and family groups awaiting a turn for picture-taking.  Like I said, a 50th anniversary doesn’t happen very often.  This celebration brought relatives in from Hawaii, Arizona, Georgia, Indiana, and many parts of our prairie state of Illinois. 
History that has been, and memoirs in the making.
~~love and Huggs, Diane

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