My friend Pat turned 75 years old the day I wrote this note to all of you. She is the most "chronologically mature" of our traveling troupe of six women who worked together at the same bank decades ago and formed an inseparable bond. From a bustling New York City tour to a relaxing Caribbean cruise, and from the redwoods of the West Coast to the pizza joints in Chicago, Pat has always been the firecracker of our "band of bankers." She smiles the most, laughs the hardest, and lives life to the fullest. She handles the difficulties life brings with grace and humor and wisdom. In addition to being a fun friend, she has been a mentor and a role model to me for almost 20 years.
Our August Issue
Music That Moved Us
A Summer Schedule
No Work, All Play?
The One That Got Away
Fishing Firsts
Dear Friends of the Good Old Days,
I remember my first fishing pole. My dad brought it home from the local hardware store and handed it to me with a smile. “This is for you,” he said, “so you don’t have to beg, borrow and steal your brothers’ poles.”
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In the 1960s when my husband, Rick, was just a boy in Ohio, there came a dark and stormy Saturday night that was not fit for man nor beast. Bright flashes of lightning lit up the sky, and thunder boomed so loud it shook the very foundation of the house. The lightning flashes seemed to be so close you could almost feel the heat, and the thunder was deafening. It felt like a fight to the death...
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