I just got home from going to the nearby assisted living facility where my mother-in-law now lives. With the wife out of town, I’d be the only visitor she would have. They had a Memorial Day “picnic”: inside the dining room, but with picnic fare of either hot dogs or hamburger, baked beans, potato salad, past salad, Fritos, and simple desserts. A tasty meal and I felt satisfied when done.

The company at the table was the best part, however. Across from my mother-in-law was Harriet. I didn’t catch her last name. I asked her where she was from, and where she’d lived, and she replied “all over the world.” She and her husband were farmers, but took assignments on the mission field for the Reformed Church of America. He did maintenance work at mission stations. When I mentioned we had a couple in our church who did the same thing in Papua New Guinea, she said they also had been in PNG.

Across from me, and arriving late, was a woman who introduced herself as Rosemary Mondale. A hundred years old, but looking much younger, I asked if she was related to the former vice president. She said her husband was Walter Mondale’s brother. She then told us about the inauguration in 1977, how they were on the platform with the Supreme Court justices. I didn’t ask Rosemary which of Mondale’s three brothers she was married to, but I suspect it was Lester Mondale. I’ll ask her if I see her on my next trip there.

To my right, arriving a little later, was Rich, wearing his Vietnam Veteran hat. After thanking him for his service, we had a good conversation about his time in Vietnam and his life. He said he was glad he went. He was one of the early USA personnel in Vietnam. He said he was in Saigon on a three-day pass when the overthrow of Diem happened. That event was November 1, 1963. Rich and his companions barely made it to the hotel in downtown Saigon being used for military staging. A 50 mm shell came through the wall near where he was. Otherwise, they were safe, and from there made it back to base with no problem.

I told Rich my dad’s story of service in WW2. This was a point of connection between us. When we first introduced and I noted his Vietnam service, he asked me if I was in the military, Vietnam era. I told him how I was just a little too young to have served.

I was back home about two hours after I’d left, adequately fed (but not overfed), and feeling blessed to have eaten with these three interesting people—and with my mother-in-law, of course.