Back in October I received an invitation to a Compeer recognition dinner. Immediately, I thought how nice it would be—but didn’t think there was much choice of my attending. [This was, coincidentally, when Grandma was visiting.]

When Mom came to pick Grandma up to take her home, I handed her the card, not realizing at first what it was.[I also forgot that she was going on a cruise around that time. She did assure me that, somehow or other, we’d find a way to get ne there.]

Even after learning Mom wasn’t going on her trip, I kept forgetting to RSVP. Finally, I dialed the number on Thursday, half suspecting that it was already too late.

As a result, when Ida picked up the phone, I said, all in a rush, “I’m sort of thinking the answer is ‘yes,’ but is it too late to RSVP to the dinner on Tuesday?” “Oh, no,” she exclaimed, surprising—and pleasing—me. [I feel like such a bad volunteer sometimes because I don’t make it to other gatherings—and I keep also forgetting to call in my monthly reports.]

I'm expecting Mom sometime after 5. Then it's on to St. Mark's, or whatever that church is.

She called around 4:20 to make sure I'm appropriately dresed for the dinner. [I was wearing a different outfit through lunch, but as soon as I brushed my teeth I changed. I'm even wearing different sneakers!]

There are **far too *many churches around: one on every street corner, in fact.

The one the dinner was at was St. Mark’s Episcople Church. Nice building, but to get inside we had to go down a flight of steps. Good thing there was a railing, as—like I told Mom—“no rail, no go.”

I forgot, until I was going down the steps, that I’d been there before—that’s why the address sounded familiar to me. [Except, the part I didn’t know: we had to pass over Skull Street.] It was where I went years ago to attend Coffee Clutches [that’s not a typo—they used to be coffee “clatches,” but then someone began calling them “clutches.”]

Dnner consisted of lasagna [regular or spinach], garlic bread and salad. I gave my salad to the lady sitting on my left, as I prefer to make my own salads—that way I know there’s nothing in it I don’t like [I’ll also eat Mom’s salads or order them the way I like from the one pizza place that delivers.]

Our guest speaker, from 7-7:30, was from MHMR [most people already knew who Shem Heller was—had Mom not told me on the drive over, I’d have had no clue.]

As for Mom, she was invited to stay—but was swamped with paperwork from the office.

This was a new experience for me, because I felt overwhelmed by the amount of people who wanted to work. There were Ida and Jodie, the administrator and volunteer coordinator; there was a gentleman to my left, whom I think was named Pat; and there was Irene, who is 83 and the newest volunteer there [I was the youngest—in fact, I won a centerpiece because of it].

For a while now, I’ve felt like a bad volunteer because I don’t attend events—that was just part of why I attended this dinner. [Pat asked me how long I’ve been a volunteer, and I wasn’t sure—later, I calculated it to be about eight years… when I got home, I used the calculator, which told me to add a year.]

I was also able to demonstrate my maturity: years ago, if Pat had come up to me and asked, “Can you see,” I’d have been offended [mostly because, at that time, I couldn’t tell who meant well from who was just being mean]. Tonight, I just responded, “Not very well.”
Him: Do you want me to help you through the line?
Me: That sounds like a disaster waiting to happen. [This is when I shouldn’t blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. Oh, well—it worked out.)
Him: No—what I meant was, you could hold onto my arm.
Me: I need my walker to walk. [Well… for balance].
Him: Oh. Do you want me to bring something back for you?
Me: Yes. [So, when someone told me what the choices were, I told him what sounded tood to me—that way we don’t have to contend with making enough room for the walker, and the fact that I can’t seem to walk in a straight line—but swerve around like I’m drunk.]


There was at least one Compeer friend, but mostly all volunteers--after all, the dinner was to recognize those who volunteered and thank them [before the prizes, we did go around and introduce ourselves. Oops... forgot to get my mints out of my jacket ]

My kids' school always had a lunch for the volunteers every year - the teachers made the food and the sixth graders waited table. I've always enjoyed that kind of thing - gives you a chance to meet people you wouldn't, otherwise.