Not for Purists

My high school classmates Pam and Ina invited us to a small reunion of fellow graduates, most of whom I have known since sixth grade. Traffic was light, and the 39-mile drive from Foster City to Oakland took one hour, not bad for a Sunday.

We went around the room compressing the last 55 years into a three-minute summary, the maximum time our spouses would tolerate, when the bell rung. The discussion leader, Dianne, was a nice girl in high school, and her calling to the ministry has taught her how to be a boss lady when it's required.

After lunch Pam served shaved ice. A few purists muttered that snow cones, with their thicker ice particles, were not genuine "shaved ice." Having had neither for years, I gave her an A for effort and slurped away.