It was a long time before we got cell phones, and then only to be able to reach each other when one was on the lake and the other at home. And that’s only possible when the one on the boat bothers to have his turned on.

Less than a week ago, a couple of us were forming plans to “do” one more lunch together, as sister and brothers in a unique family. We’ve tried to do this annually, but this time we waited too long.

When Carol responded to my e-mail message late last summer, we swapped autobiographies, compared memories of our early childhoods in Harrisburg, Pa., and marveled at how easy it is sometimes to find people from your past.

This will blow away any surprise factor for shower and wedding gifts from me for the next couple of years, but it’s worth it to snare the perfect gift without spending a fortune.

God strikes again!

In September of 2006, I introduced you to a tiny church that was struggling to stay alive. Mt. Pilgrim Lutheran Church has sat alongside of Ga. Highway 85 since about 1840, and was struggling with an average attendance of five members out of a congregation that numbered 77 on the books.

In these last few weeks of winter weather (one hopes) we began noticing the uptick of birds at the feeders. There have been some birds on our deck and at the feeders all winter, but we occasionally see a real influx to the neighborhood.

Invited to speak briefly to the seniors group at Fayette First Presbyterian, I flipped through some stuff I’d written and found odds and ends that have never been tucked into a file for later use.

Whence this urge to reunite with persons from our past? I suppose it’s part of the aging process. We wonder how this one is, or where, and what have they done with their lives.

If you’ve browsed this space a dozen times, you may recall my addiction to words and syntax. In Germany there are probably three bookstores per block in every town of any size at all, and what amazes me is that they are invariably packed with customers.

Thinking about my college roommate last week when, don’tcha know, her Christmas newsletter arrived. The envelope is postmarked 5 Feb 2008. When I’ve been that late, I’ve dubbed it a “holiday” newsletter, or just an annual update, but Mary faces things straight on, admits she’s a procrastinator and hopes friends and relatives had a wonderful Christmas.

It has been awhile since I’ve undertaken to share the wisdom of my years with those who make the world run, the ones we used to call the “Powers That Be.”

Some “good news, bad news” about birds.

First the good: On Dec. 15, a mild Saturday, 11 volunteers fanned out across the 15-mile-diameter Peachtree City circle for the 108th Christmas Bird Count. Veteran coordinator Brock Hutchins led the pack of sleuths to count the number of species wintering over here – 78 in 2007-08 – and the total number of birds counted – 6,331.

Our Jean lives in northern Virginia and is good to keep in touch regularly. This week she copied me with reports she has contracted to send NOAA concerning whatever weather was happening in her backyard. Snow!

For latecomers, our daughter Mary has lived in Germany since 1984; she is a pianist who has worked for several opera houses but now is with the Mannheim Opera Company. She lives an interesting life, to say the least.

Friends and family, knowing my passion for words, added several books to my lexicon library last year. And just in the knick of time, I’d say. Two new words – at least new to me, that is – popped up in the press over the holidays and sent me to browse the online reference section.

Ladies and gentlemen, thank you, uh, thank… please, save your appl…ap….

Please, ladies and gentlemen, friends… Please… It’s not what you think. Plea…

All the hosts of heaven, it seemed, were jostling and pushing their way toward the Great Hall of Justice. The commotion frightened a young angel caught up in the crowd.

A Stone Soup cartoon saved from several years ago:

Two women at the water fountain, co-workers, bemoaning how much there is to do at Christmas: decorating, shopping, wrapping, writing cards, baking cookies, all the social events and children’s pageants.

One might call the annual Christmas Bird Count, sponsored by the National Audubon Society, a kind of bellwether for the environment of the Western Hemisphere.

As dawn breaks tentatively and one can begin to identify the world outside the bedroom doors, the late sleeper already has choices to make: Go back to sleep? Burrow into the pillows and take a chance on getting enough air to live? Watch the trees begin to take individual forms?

Don’t let anyone tell you nothing exciting ever happens at the Waffle House.

On Wednesdays, we have breakfast at Store 777, the one on Ga. Highway 74 South in Peachtree City. Last week started like every other. I don’t even order any more; Terri knows what I want. Dave varies his breakfast from week to week and requires a bit more time.

Come in, come in! Close the door -- it’s cold out there. Come stand by the fire. You’re just in time to watch the sunset.

When I told Dave I was having a hard time coming up with a column this week, he said I shouldn’t worry about it.

“You have a way of finding something unusual – unlike everybody else who is falling back and writing about, oh, the fall colors, for instance. So overdone.”

All right, class. Today we’ll visit a word that was invented for a purpose, a made-up word you probably use daily. It’s an invented word, according to several sources like NPR Radio and Yahoo Asker, because its creator had trouble settling on a word to use when answering the telephone he just invented.

In a poem she managed to lose, the writer describes the simple ritual of coffee and newspaper she and her husband share each morning. Then his departure, a quick peck on her cheek, the “Love you” which has replaced “Goodbye.”

The temperature lodged in the 90s and dropped only about 10 degrees after dark.

Humidity was for all intents and purposes nonexistent.

Pulling a few unrelated thoughts together here:

Although we’ve lived in Peachtree City for 36 years altogether, we’ve been in this house for 23 years now, the longest we’ve lived anywhere. Wouldn’t you think there would be no more surprises?

Today we have a “local lad makes good” story.

If you take National Geographic Magazine, you may have read about his recent adventure on the Strait of Malacca or heard him interviewed on NPR, but didn’t recognize his name.

What’s the old saying? “If it weren’t for bad luck, I wouldn’t have any luck at all”? Our outing last week was only about half “bad luck.” Could have been worse.

At my invitation, several readers were kind enough to write and share their thoughts about surgery, pain and healing.