Reconnecting

The invitation arrived several weeks ago and I made plans to attend an anniversary celebration of the civic club of which I once was a member in the mid-to-late 1970s. Back then, we were known as the Morrow Civic Woman's Club; but as time passed and members became “older,” it made sense the drop the “junior” designation.

I had high hopes of meeting up with “old” friends, most of whom I hadn’t seen in 30 plus years. I moved away, each of us had a different focus in our lives; time passed; we lost touch. As it turned out, there were few (only seven) of the old crowd present.

The club has grown and added many new members over the years.

One of the beautiful table decorations. Goldfish swam in the water that filled the glass bowls holding each table decoration.

The current club’s membership did a great job of organizing an event to celebrate 50 years of community service in Morrow, Ga., one of several counties comprising Metropolitan Atlanta. When I lived there and was a member, Clayton County was still for the most part a quiet and pastoral place, a place seeped in traditions of the past, and a somewhat stark contrast to fast paced Metro Atlanta. How things have changed since 1979, when I moved from Clayton County to Dunwoody, to the north of the city.

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Changed is putting it mildly. Who would have thought that the landscape of once familiar spots was so altered that I could hardly navigate through it all? The back-then fields and pasture land dotted sparingly by just-emerging subdivisions are now given over to wall-to-wall commercial; two-lane streets swollen to six and, even so, barely able to accommodate the ever-rushing mass of vehicles. The once tranquil neighborhoods have become through ways to who-knows-where.

But why should I be surprised, or somewhat sad, about this transition? Time marches on; progress overtakes us. After all, many years have passed. We don’t notice change so much when we’re in the midst of it; we gradually absorb and adjust. It's only when we’re removed and then revisit that we are surprised, or shocked.

All that aside, it was an enjoyable occasion. It was good to remember that one was once a part of something larger than oneself and one's efforts made a difference in a community and the lives of others. I served as the club’s president for one year in 1978 and am thankful for the experience.

I was happy my sister accompanied me on the trip, as it was a time for her to relax in the hotel while I went to the party. Later, we met with two of my best “old” (not in age, but in years of association!) for a nice dinner at the Village Café in Fayetteville.

"Old" friends having dinner at the Village Cafe

On Sunday I wanted to drive by the house in which I lived. It was very odd getting there, as the landscape had changed so much. Feeling somewhat disoriented, I made a wrong turn but finally found it!

So popular in the 1970s, this tri-level that I put a great deal of my heart and soul into decorating and landscaping still looks good after all these years.

The plan was that I would next drive north to see the house in which I lived for even more years, the house in Dunwoody. Along the way we stopped by Perimeter Mall for a quick lunch and we glad we visited Villa Italian Kitchen.

An OK place for a quick lunch

I had pizza and salad.

My sister's lunch was stromboli and salad

By now, it was 2:30 p.m. and knowing we had a four-hour drive ahead, I opted to skip a drive by the second house, so we made our way home. I believe I had already lived the past enough for one weekend.

But one thing is certain: I have reconnected with friends that I hope will now be a part of my future.

Please share stories you have of connecting with your past and with old friends.