P & P Meeting and High School

Got busy yesterday.  Stripped my bed, washed those sheets and another load, re-made it, showered, put on my new top, and high-tailed it down to Egg Harbor Township for our Players & Playwrights meeting.
It was there because somebody--I'm not sure whose responsibility this was--neglected to reserve either the Ventnor or the Margate library branches.  I can't understand why this isn't done for the whole year: every third Saturday from 1 to 4 pm, but somehow it wasn't; last month, we met at Bernice's in Margate.  It's a pain in the rear not to have a public meeting place.
The traffic going south on the Parkway was beyond belief.  I sat for a good twenty minutes halted in a long, long line trying to exit to the various beaches.  However, I got to Rachel's in time.
We read the first act of my Fatal Family Reunion, which I explained was a dinner theatre murder mystery, and it went very well. I took the part of Aunt Barbarella Corpuscle-Crenshaw myself.
The critiques were generally favorable and I got some useful suggestions, too.  I plan to revise and bring the second act next time.
We also read Joe L.'s short play.  Joe is over 90, a retired oncologist, and can no longer type; he dictates to an assistant.  His play was fair, but not great.  He's very prolific and what's funny is that he usually includes a lot of sex in his plays.  We remarked on that and he cheerfully admitted it.
The other play was a tedious re-write by Jim L.  Very slight, if you ask me and, frankly, my mind wandered while it was being read. He may or may not ever get it done and I don't care one way or the other.
I found it annoying that Bobbi and Alexis walked in at about 1:10, but at least we hadn't quite started. However, Linda came a full 45 minutes late, along with the man she had brought--late--last time, too.   I'm not clear on whether he's a relative or she's his caretaker or something, but I find it hard to be patient with people who are chronically tardy.
Good meeting, though.  Our leader, John P., is having one of his plays performed in November at Johns Hopkins.  I'm toying with the idea of possibly going south for it.  My nephew, Patrick, is an otolarynologist there.
Met Betty after for early dinner at Applebee's and my pal, Louise S., came along.  I'm not a big fan of the restaurant; had salmon, which was so-so, but enjoyed the social aspects.
Got home to find a message from brother Frank, Patrick's father, and I called him back.  He wanted to ask me about having the Fitzsimmons girls and Betty for lunch; he went to school with Margaret Mary and he'd like to get back in touch with her. I'll send her phone and e-mail address.
We talked about my upcoming reunion, which I'm still not sure I'll attend, although I got a message from classmate Jeanne P., urging me to.  I mentioned to Frank that high school was about the most miserable time of my life, although I don't think others realized that.  Frank said he felt the same way.  At one of his reunions, he said, a classmate stood up and said they were the best years of his life. And who was that?
It was Jim "Mo" McHale, late brother of my friend and fellow blogger, Pat R.  Mo was a good basketball player, also tall and handsome, and I assume popular, which is the be-all and end-all of high school life, so I guess he was in a different strata.
As for Frank and me--we survived it, but would never want to go back.