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A SHORT STORY                                                                                        MAY 7, 2012

JoAnn Yett is a friend of mine from golf at Indian Springs.  At her behest, I wrote and gave a “little talk” at her Sam’s Club Samboree gathering which was held at the Antelope Valley Fairgrounds up in Lancaster.  She has been the head honcho of this group for awhile.  It was February 8, 2011 The “little talk” was about the Forster Family in Early California , then on to some of my personal life to the present day.  I had the audience mesmerized — it could’ve been they were simply asleep — since I droned on for about an hour.

Next morning, as we checked out trying to make a quick getaway because it was colder than a bygone with the north wind blowing a gale and struggling to get into the car, I noticed a young man walking towards us from his car.  He wanted to know if he had heard right at the checkout desk when I said “Forster” checking out because that was his last name also.  He was Daniel Forster, so we jabbered back and forth about where we were from — he was from back east somewhere, and it didn’t  register in my brain although I was only 92 + 10 months at that time.  Or maybe the wind blew it in one ear and out the other.  Or maybe the batteries were dead in my ear plugs.  I gave him two of my cards:  one has the picture of me at 5 years old, the other with me at 90 years old with address, email information.  Then off we drove south towards home and warmer climes.

Now fast forward to May 4, 2012, and I am looking through my email, and there is one from “grandma.”  I know a gobs of grandmas, so opened it, and after a cursory look, I thought “oh, oh, this could be one of those emails where some fake relative wants me to send money immediately.”  However, as I backed up and really concentrated on what was there, it wasn’t that at all.

Grandma’s name is Mary Forster Reber, telling me how her brother, Robert Forster, was telling her about his son, Daniel Forster, running into me and giving him 2 cards, and he had only recently given them to her, and she couldn’t  wait to contact me to see if we might be related.  Her family has been hanging aroundAlbany,Minnesotafor years.  And my family has been hunkering aroundMexicoandSouthern Californiafor over 4 centuries.

Here’s something else to add to this tale of relatives(?)  My older sis, Emery, had a daughter named Claire, and she married a guy by the name of Paul Reber.  Now Mary Forster Reber’s husband can get into the act.  I don’t know where Paul was from.  He kinda acted like a guy might act fromMinnesota. But what do I know? — I don’t even know a guy fromMinnesota.

I’m going to send Mary a copy of my “little talk,” and she can read it as she goes to bed, and she will absolutely have the best sleep of her whole life.

THE END

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