I drove up to Fort Collins from Denver yesterday afternoon to have dinner with my sister Susan and brother-in-law George and to help them celebrate their 45th wedding anniversary. In honor of that occasion I brought them a photograph of our family up at Britannia, a resort on Ontario's Lake of Bays, taken many years ago, at a time when not even I was born yet. Talk about old! My sister Susan and her cousin, friend, and rival Judy would run wild for two weeks up there, much to the delight of the college age waitresses up there. Judy loved the place so much she insisted on having her honeymoon there, the site of so many happy childhood memories. Susan and George, on the other hand, got married in Evanston, Illinois, at the justice of the peace, and borrowed the family car right after the wedding to drive to Milwaukee and spend their honeymoon there. I remember that they were kind enough to drop us off at the Illinois Central train station first, where my mother, father, Grandmother Spillard, and I waited to take the train back to the southern suburbs, where we lived at the time. Not that I'm bitter about something that happened back in 1969. Not me. No way. Not ever.
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