In a 2015 post, I wrote about driving from Oregon to southern California and being escorted off the Pacific Coast Highway by two highway patrol cars.
It struck me as odd that there was no traffic on the PCH. None behind me, none ahead. But I enjoyed the show as the sun painted a watercolor sky and then bowed off stage behind the Pacific Ocean.
I’ve been here before. I recognize these Naugahyde chairs, the clink of glass wheeling past on carts, the overhead speaker announcing “Code Blue” in Room 617.
I recently ran across a quote that resonates with me:
Make your life a story to tell. Accumulate memories, not just possessions.
On a normal year, there are anywhere between 100-120 family members. COVID took center stage last year and the family reunion was cancelled. For the first time ever.
But an unofficial invitation was sent this year. Turns out, 76 people showed up. And fun was had by all.
My friend, Emma, is a year out from the loss of her husband, who valiantly battled cancer before leaving her with three children.
That great philosopher Winnie the Pooh once said:
I knew when I met you an adventure was going to happen.
— A. A. Milne
This speaks to me of my new husband, Dan.
Back in the days when televisions fit into cabinets, this primitive hutch housed a TV. It once served as extra storage for kitchen items, and it once set outdoors for a spell, housing vegetable seeds and flowerpots and garden tools.
Of all the self-careful things we women did this past weekend—hearing each other’s stories, eating, hiking, laughter, yoga, massage, solving a murder mystery, singing, listening to encouragement from scripture—one of my favorites was the paint class.
I’ve dragged this beautiful, old door around with me through several addresses. Because I had plans to repurpose it into something new and useful. I just didn’t know what. Yet.
Copyright © 2026 Marlys Johnson
