Often, when I am starting my Sunday mornings with a hot cup of coffee, I ponder what should be the subject of my next column.

The brain is complex, and mine is full of broken subjects and sentences that whirl around trying to find structure.

Usually when I feel my brain is not on track, I take my Sunday morning walk and converse with God.  By the time I am into my first mile, a theme for a story will start to form.

Today, however, all my thoughts were just a collection of mumbo jumbo.

A white car passed near my home, going a bit too fast.

“Teenagers!” I thought.

As it flew by me, I saw letters printed on the rear-view window in multi colors:

“SENIOR! ’18!”

Yes, a speeding 17-year-old on their way to the last year of high school.

I smiled.  I knew God just gave me my story. An email came across my computer the other day.

You know how you can receive a letter or a message that lifts your spirits and makes your day?

Well, I got one of those.

It seems that my high school class decided that since we are all turning 70 this year, we might be getting too old to have a reunion once every 5 years.

Duh!  Of course, we are.

We have lost some dear classmates over the years and, of course, as we age, our class size dramatically becomes fewer in number.

It is a sad thought, but one that is just plain realistic.

Sometimes realism is traumatic.

I still pass a mirror and wonder who belongs to that reflection.  Trauma is when I realize it is just me.

My soul is still a senior at LaGrange High.  My reflection should reflect that!

I think most of my class of 70-year-old folks think the same way.  At least we are getting a bit smarter by trying to get together sooner rather than later.

Duh! Of course, we are.

Many of us live in other cities, other states and are busy living our lives.

There are schedules, football games, conflicts and families that pull and tug us to go in a thousand different directions and gaze into a thousand different mirrors.

I don’t know how many of our classmates can gather in a short amount of time, but my theory is that I should just get a bus and round them all up.

I may have to hog tie a few, but I am still strong so that doesn’t scare me.

If I can’t find a bus or my rope, I will get my car, pick up Marie and head to LaGrange.  There is nothing like riding in a car with Marie.

She can turn a frown to a smile with her magic humor.  She has not changed a bit since 17.

Same dry wit, same kind heart, same good person and, doggone, she is the same size!

How little do we change from those folks we were in 1965?

I am still me.  I am a bit wiser, have a few thousand more wrinkles and have no idea what happened to the body I once lived in.

As the teen’s car passed me on the road today, I realized I should have waved her down, made her stop and told her a thing or two.

“Honey, don’t speed through life.

It goes fast enough without putting your foot down on the peddle.

It was just yesterday I was starting my senior year with some great friends.  Now my great friends and I truly are seniors.

Yes, you are looking at the wrinkles and the body that you will one day own.  Yes, honey, you will not look the same.

However, a part of you will never age.  It is the part that still dances, still laughs and keeps you wanting to gather old friends on a drive down the road.”

I am going to get my bus, grab my pals, and write on the rear-view window in bold colors, “SENIORS! ’65!”

Marie and I will laugh as we speed toward our reunion.  We will not be racing to get to the future, we will be speeding to reunite with the past.

Time is of the essence.

Duh! Of course, it is!

Lynn Walker Gendusa is a former resident and writer who currently resides in Roswell. She can be reached at lwgendusa@bellsouth.net