August is a big month for birthdays for my best buddies whose friendship dates all the way back to the Eisenhower administration.

We celebrated our 5th birthdays with Pin the Tail on the Donkey, and our 10th at the skating rink.  On our 14th, we had a sleep over at Beth’s and went out back and taught ourselves how to smoke. I swear, we never inhaled.

On our  Sweet 16th, we danced the Twist to Chubby Checker, and on our 18th we sang “I Want To Hold Your Hand” and swooned over the Beatles and all the men we loved before.

Then we said good-bye and went our separate ways for the next 35 years, never dreaming we could come home again and pick up where we left off.

After raising our families, and down-shifting on our careers, we suddenly find ourselves with the time and desire to relive those happy times together and make new memories.  That’s a challenge when your memory keeps wandering away.

Tonight, five of us got together at Norma’s to celebrate the birthdays of more members of our old gang who qualify for Club 65.  Month by month, the class of 65 at West Point High School is turning 65 and I’m relieved that we haven’t matured even a little bit.

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We gave each other monogrammed bottles – a total accident which demonstrates how like minded we are, plus that initial may help remind us of who we are.  We looked at old photos and thanked our lucky stars for being able to share our time on planet Earth together.  We laughed so hard my teeth hurt, and I’m feeling the urge to go out and “roll” a yard in toilet paper.

Happy birthday to Carolyn, Marie, Ruthie, and Beth and all the others we celebrate in absentia.  Vintage 65 was, and is, a very good year.