Kirkland was a sleepy little town on the shores of Lake Washington in 1934. There were only a few blocks of shops and businesses.

No need for a traffic light.

It came alive when the Lincoln ferry landed at the dock, its whistle announcing its arrival and then its departure. Another daily sound was the town siren that went off at noon to announce lunchtime.

In September of that year, school bells rang for us girls, kids of the Great Depression, as we started first grade in Kirkland schools – Shirley, Margaret and Pat at Central Elementary School, and my twin sister Jo Ann and I at Rose Hill Grade School where Joyce joined us in the third grade.

Alice Mae came to Central School in the fifth grade and Gloria in the sixth.We all became friends when we began the seventh grade at Kirkland Junior High together, where, from our classrooms, we could see the ferry coming and going.

When we were in the eighth grade, Pearl Harbor was bombed, thus the start of World War II, a scary time for us, living on the West Coast. We were sad when Dick, one of our classmates, was sent to a Japanese internment camp in California.

The war was still going on when we entered high school, touching our lives in many ways.

We took part in paper, metal and War Bond drives, experienced gas and food rationing, had to use shoe stamps, and saw friends and family members go off to war.

When we were juniors in high school, the Kirkland and Redmond School Districts consolidated, becoming the  Lake Washington School District.

That’s when Bonnie, Carolyn and Billie joined our group. We called ourselves “The Gang,“ eating lunch together, having slumber parties and attending movies at Kirkland’s Gateway Theater.

The war was over when we graduated from high school, and although we went off in different directions to college or work, we continued to keep in touch. We attended one another’s weddings and later visited with kids in tow.

Now 67 years since starting the first grade, our friendships are still going strong.

We meet for lunch the last Monday of each month in the Kirkland area. This ritual started in the late 80’s when Joyce moved back to the Northwest.

There is no set routine. We just eat and talk. Early on, it was about husbands, children, then grandchildren, and now great-grandchildren.

Our conversations vary from frustrations with the latest technology to recalling our school days and every subject in between.

We laugh at our shortcomings, sympathize when one of us has bad news, and sometimes tangle over politics.

Now that we are in our 80’s, our group has dwindled in numbers. We lost Alice Mae through death (but adopted her sister Marj).

Shirley is in a nursing home, Pat now lives in Guatemala (but sends occasional greetings via e-mail), and Billie is in Idaho. Bonnie can only come occasionally from her home in Vancouver.

Also, half of the “Girls,” as we call ourselves now, are widows.

Regardless of what happens, we plan to continue our tradition, having lunch together each month for as long as we can.

It’s our ritual. A bond that we cherish. Simply being together as long-time Kirkland friends.

(After this piece was written, my twin sister, Jo Ann Ingersoll, passed away. Since she had urged me to write it, I am dedicating it to her.)

Janet Park is a long-time Kirkland resident.