Thirty-seven years ago, I was getting ready to leave the apartment in Des Plaines, Illinois, with my brother Bob and cousin Joe (the only one from my side other than immediate family to make it) and drive to Dekalb where we were to meet up with the rest of the wedding party at the Holiday Inn (now Best Western) on Lincoln Highway (Il-38).
We had had the rehearsal dinner (but no rehearsal) the night before at Algauer's in Northbrook.
It was an extremely hot day.
I had just signed a contract to teach in Round Lake two days earlier. I ended up teaching with the district all 33 years, and now it's 37 years with Liz not counting when we were going together in high school.
I guess you might say I get into things for the long haul.
As my Dear Old Daddy would sing, "Thirty-seven years with the wrong, wrong woman."
Not Really (In Case Liz Reads This). But She Knows the Song Well. I've sung It to Her Every Year for 37 Times Now. --RoadDog
DIDJA HEAR? Santa's helpers are subordinate clauses.
Being an account of some things I'm interested in, what I'm doing, and reflections on my past, especially music.
Listen to this man. Seven years of college, you know. Trying to reason with 2020 and, now, 2022.
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