Memory Lane

Two years ago today I was in Atlanta, wrapping up the Georgia conference. I had worked it with Jenna (Pocoroba) Cobb, and we had had a great time visiting, reminiscing, talking of bygone Virginia days and marriage. After the conference Catherine Hackler picked me up to spend the rest of the weekend with her family...but first, she said, she hoped I didn't mind if we went to a progressive dinner party with her Sunday School class. Of course I didn't mind. The conference was over and I was typically high-strung with the post-conference adrenaline rush, all game for adventure.

We were late to dinner and there was a game of Psychiatrist going on. After observing for a few minutes I whispered the pattern to Ron (now Catherine's husband) and he was SO impressed that I had got them all figured out, even being new to the crowd and all. Ha. Little did he know what an old hand I was at the game, having played many a merry round at Sherri Wilson's log cabin in West Virginia that halcyon summer and fall!

From thence we progressed to dinner, and on the way Catherine confessed to me that she had her sights set on introducing me to a friend of hers, a Michael Focht. 'I don't know him that well, but I respect him alot and I think he'd be a good match for you. He was in the Marines and very handsome, but I'm so disappointed because he just cut his hair really short, and I think he looked much more handsome before...' On she went singing Michael's praises to me. I laughed at her enthusiasm. 'My dear girl, short hair or no, I have no intention of falling for someone with such a monosyllabic last name. But many thanks for your kind thoughts and all that.'

We arrived at the dessert setting and began a game of Mafia. Against all odds I drew the Mafia card and, through an intricate series of bluffs, double-crosses, and intrigues (one of my favourite dodges is to confide in whispers to the person next to me, a couple of rounds in, that I'm the sheriff, that I know that person is safe because I just checked him/her out, and that if I go down he/she must carry on and here is a list of the people I've checked so far that are safe, etc.) went on to victory! It was terribly exciting. Twice I was put on the witness stand and each time I defended myself with such artless innocence that I was acquitted...Michael tells me that although he voted to acquit me the first time, he really did suspect me and was just being nice to this new out-of-towner. Certainly he it was leading the charge against me the second time. Fun, fun, fun!

Catherine, never one to leave well enough alone, left nothing to fate in ensuring that Michael left with a favourable impression of me. As Ron described it to me later, 'Catherine is Emma Woodhouse in the flesh. I'm like, Hey, so-and-so, here's so-and-so; I think you should meet. Catherine's like, You stand here, you stand here. Now stay right there while I run get the vise.' After the game of Mafia, Catherine sidled up to Dave, who has a Jeep. 'Hey, Dave, Rose has never seen the Atlanta skyline at night! Would you like to take us out for a spin in your Jeep? How many does it seat again? Four? Hey, Michael, would you like to come along?' Curiously enough, Michael had been hanging around, and was not averse to coming along. And as we headed out to the Jeep, Catherine announced, 'Oh, I can't crawl into the back wearing this short skirt. I hope you don't mind if I take the front seat.' So we gamely clambered into the back together and spent the next hour admiring the Atlanta skyline by night, talking of books and travel and chess and ships and shoes and cabbages and kings. And it wasn't very long before he had extracted my email address.

And the rest is history.