CAROL AND Russell Todd traveled to Olympia, Washington this month (where their son resides) for the wedding of their granddaughter, Becca Todd. “We were there five days. We had a big family reunion,” Mrs. Todd reported.

While they were in the neighb orhood, they visited Sally Buckley who now lives in Dupont, Washington, 98327 (2076 Bradley Street for anyone who would like to write to the former Northfield resident). Mrs. Todd said that Sally “is fine! She loves her accommodation. She’s president of the resident’s association.” Mrs. Buckley’s daughter, Ann, is a doctor at a local hospital. Her sons close live close by.

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The other big news this week was this reporter’s birthday. That announcement was flashed on Channel 7 for the entire week, thanks to son, Ben. On Sunday, when the family arrived, they insisted we keep tuned in so we could enjoy the one and only time my name has been on television.

Son Rick said that I couldn’t do anything food-wise, that he and his brother would take care of it. He thought we should have corn on the cob, a tradition on my birthday since corn usually is ready on my day. But I don’t have a pot large enough to hold corn for the family, it would make the kitchen hot, it would be best to keep things simple, it’s a messy food when there’s a small crowd.

Then my sister surprised me at the kitchen door with a large pot, bags of corn, sticks of butter, and a roll of paper towels. The feast was complete. About the same time, a niece, who lives in Massachusetts and hadn’t been in town for three or four years, knocked on the front door. The twins arrived with their parents. Invited friends arrived. No one cared that it was cool and rainy outside. We had a blast inside! And plenty of corn. Someone brought a card from which paper flames leapt with a note: Cake on fire! Cake on fire!

You know how a child holds up its fingers to show how old they are? Well, my granddaughter made a poster covered with hands, each finger numbered to show my grand total. Wow, fourteen hands.

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The year that my twin grandchildren turned 15, we planned a picnic on the lawn. Just as we had the picnic table under the old maple tree set up and were about to place the food on it, raindrops started. People and tables moved into the garage— an unsightly environ for a party. Embarrassing for a hostess. But before we could get the food into the garage, the sun came out. We put the food on the picnic table and called folks out of the garage. Of course, then it really began to rain. We hauled everything into the garage and set it up on the workbench. It was not pretty. But it was good and the kids turned 15 regardless.

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The town’s landladies and lords must be pleased. We notice that new tenants are moving in here and there in the rental properties.

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Julia Roberts’ new movie, Eat Pray Love, is as slow as it is pretty. It takes about two hours to sit through it.

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