She’s exactly how I remember her. Details come back to me as if it were yesterday and not decades since we last spent time together—the way she talked, the way she thought, the way she lived. I reminisce—sharing with my daughter, who I invite in to this circle—about growing up together, about happier, simpler times, about family and friends and faith. There is a sense of comfort, as if a homecoming has taken place. All is familiar. All is well.

I introduced my daughter on Monday to an old friend. She and Laura Ingalls are already getting well acquainted, and it appears my well-worn paperback set may take an even further beating in the years to come. That is okay with me. Good friends are for sharing.

I have eagerly awaited this reunion—many, many more are to come…

motherhood raising girls reminiscing