Tall Anne, Ranson, and I met for lunch yesterday to remember our dear Anne Pershing – Short Anne, as I called her when we were doing the Fallon Star Press together.
Once a year, as close as we can to the anniversary of her leaving us, the three of us convene a long lunch in the booth she loved at Jerry's. I remember as clear as day when I was in high school, seeing her sitting back there with J.C. Copley, both wearing their huge late-80s glasses, both smoking cigarettes, sitting with their heads together, obviously plotting some newspaper lady things.
Of course, I was late to meet them. Getting ready to jump on a call to talk about printing, a text came through from Anne to see if I was on my way. I thought our lunch was set for the 9th, so I sheepishly ran to my truck, zoom call in hand, and blew into the restaurant 20 minutes into our catch-up.
We always talk a lot when we're together – whether we catch each other at a public meeting or have to jump on the phone for something. But this lunch is even worse. We do ramble. We got that tendency from her: talk until the barriers fall down, and you get to the good stuff. It's one of the gifts she encouraged in us, a tool of the trade, so to speak.
We toasted her with our iced tea, and we wandered through our memories. We laughed at how she knew us all so well, each of our talents and weaknesses, and how to get the most out of us. And then Tall Anne said how weird that it's been ten years.
And we couldn't believe it – we started wandering through the time frame, and none of us could nail down the day or the year. But I had a voicemail saved all these years, so we dug through my phone and listened to the message she left me a week before she died.
"Ok you little twerp, this is Anne, and I'm gonna die before we ever get together again to have lunch or dinner or coffee…" In April of 2016. So it's been nine years. Before I listened to that message, I got a note from Jenny that Anne was gone, and then I couldn't bring myself to hear it.
The service wasn't held for about a month, so it was the day I drove to Reno, way past when she left it before I ever got the courage to listen. And then I burst out laughing and crying all over my steering wheel. She really did know us each so well.
It struck me as we chatted, how lucky we are to all be involved in community newspapering. Still using all the skills Anne taught us and how proud she would be of where we all are in our lives right now.
So while we remember old friends and appreciate all they mean to us, we'll still be right here…
… Keeping you Posted.
Rach.
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