Long before tv show caricatures, the Lunch Lady was an institution at our elementary school.
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During my senior year in high school I was offered the chance to learn how to fly. In the barren plains northwestern South Dakota, between the bluffs of short pines that sheltered my little airfield I spent my Spring overcoming my fear of heights and fulfilling a lifelong dream of taking to the sky. I soloed on May 1, 1990 and I remember how proud I was when my instructor traditionally cut my shirt tail. I will forever remember those days as my bravest as I took lessons in the loudest classroom in the world.

It is his scent that comes back to me most strongly: a mixture of leather, Barbasol shaving cream, and cigars.
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My grandfather loved horses and gambling more than he loved my grandmother, so he spent a lot of time at the racetrack.
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“What’s this?” asked Wendy. “Chocolate cream pie,” I answered helpfully. “It’s like soup,” said Jean.
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I still remember my first day in college. My dad came to drop me at bus stop and as soon as we saw our bus with the engineering college’s name on top, my dad showed a signal to stop. I boarded the bus and sat next to a girl. Out of nervousness I started chatting with the girl when she mentioned that this bus is not going to the college I was enrolled in. I started panicking, when to my great relief I saw my dad trying to stop the bus again. Incidentally, he too had realised that we got the wrong bus. We then waited to get the other bus and this time it was heavily crowded girl’s hostel bus.

While climbing the stairs of my college someone from behind grabbed my bag and pulled. It was enough to give a mini heart attack but I survived to turn back. It was not a senior but my school friend. She guided me the way to my classroom. The classroom had tall tables and Engineering Drawing class was in progress. Everything told in the class went above my head. I could not make heads or tails out of it.

I started wondering whether engineering was for me or not. Then came the workshop class. I was in the welding class in the first 1 hour and then carpentry class in the next. All the guys in the class were making efficient effort in welding pieces of metal, while just looking at it gave me shivers or should I say I was sweating from nervousness and the sunny weather.

When I just managed to get over the welding class, the carpentry class was much better. I figured at least I could carve a piece of wood. I didn’t excel in it but I sure at least managed to show up something. So although there were many challenges to overcome but there was hope at the end of my struggling day. Hopes of a new college life, of making new friends, of exploring new things, to excel in some and fail in others. There are many First Days in life –First Day in college, First Day in office, First Day in new city. It is important to understand that making mistakes is fine until we learn from them.

Dear Mom and Dad,

I wonder if you felt the same emptiness I did, when you dropped me off at college in the late 1970s.  I was standing at the entrance of my dorm at the top of a hill, watching as you drove off in the pickup and camper.  I don’t remember tears, but I certainly had an empty heart. As the first in my family to go to college, the novelty was underscored by my choice of California – an exotic place for a visit much less to live. You must have had misgivings starting a few days earlier on our arrival, driving through east Oakland.  Dad even said “it’s like mile after mile of Hillyard,” the wrong side of town in Spokane where we lived.  Cue the Hillyardite jokes.

Calling home long distance required planning, and was an expense not taken lightly in those days.  I’m sure I told you several times when I called with bouts of homesickness that I would probably stick out the first year but then I’d transfer someplace closer to home. Did you encourage me to stay, or to return?  I don’t remember. Had we only known.  Looking down from that hill, watching your camper disappear around the corner I certainly didn’t foresee that I would never live at home again or than an extraordinary life would unfold for me in California.  It has taken a long, long time to appreciate the significance of that first day of college.

She was also raised during the depression and hated waste, particularly food waste.
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Two hundred dollars in - excuse the expression - cold, hard cash.
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We cram sweaty into a booth, raising scarcely an eyebrow in rented tuxedos and spaghetti-strap gowns.
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