I promise I’ll get back to telling you about my month in France, but it’s been a busy few weeks. Youth is on my mind right now.
I just went to Indianapolis for my 50th high school reunion, way more fun than I expected. I spent a little time with my mom. She’s 92, still making art, and goes out with girlfriends for margaritas every Sunday evening. I got to join them.
I found a fabulous Airbnb, a carriage house apartment behind this posh house in the Meridian-Kessler neighborhood. Gorgeous and handy to everything. 
The best part of the reunion weekend, though, was how warm and friendly everyone was. A few of us started with pickleball Friday morning–my first time, except a brief lesson from my Colorado friend Diane. My high school tennis prowess served me not. at. all. I was terrible, but it was super fun.
Later, many of us toured the old high school. The sight of our old tennis courts, now beyond repair, reminded me just how long it’s been. Then out for pizza and more catching up.
Saturday afternoon, I visited the Indianapolis Museum of Art. 
Note the comfy seating so you can look up long enough to see this.
This is one tiny moment in a long video loop set to music. Besides trees, there were all kinds of other things, lots of blue–my favorite. I could barely tear myself away. Trust me. Go see it if you can.
Saturday night was the main reunion event, and it was lovely: so many laughs and even genuine conversations about our lives. I’m so glad I went.
Two days after returning home, I had nine days with the little guys while their parents headed to Greece.
Lots of soccer:
There were certainly some stressful moments, but plenty of sweet ones, too. Once, Beckett was not where I expected him to be, and I had a minor freak out. I told the boys in the car that I needed to pray so I could calm down enough to drive safely. “Jesus, thank you that Beckett’s safe. . . .” Something short. Then a little voice pipes up from the back seat. It’s Brooks. “And Jesus, when I grow up, I want to be a banana.” Wait, what? “And do back flips.” I’m trying not to laugh. I mean, he is praying, for the first time as far as I know. Then Beckett clarifies, “He means a Savannah Banana.” Ah, yes, of course. And maybe someday he will be a banana. Youth holds many possibilities.
As it turns out, so do our later years, even though I am certain I will never be a banana. Wishing you joy ALL your days!
