On what would have been her 67th birthday, I gingerly lifted a yellow piece of paper shaped like a bell from the box of my parents’ mementos and looked quizzically at my dad. “Oh, Mom’s bell!” he smiled as he held it gently in his own hands, emotion and memories creasing his face.

Printed on it was “Your 21st – Many Happy Returns … Clint Castor’s Pretzel Bell” and inscriptions and signatures covered it like you might find in a yearbook. All written to my mom. My dad told me how it came to be:On September 12th, 1969, my mom celebrated her 21st birthday. She had already graduated from the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor — she was so intelligent that she entered college having skipped ahead two grades — and was then living in New York, working for IBM as one of precious few female programmers in that day and age.

She and my dad had been dating for a year and so she flew to Ann Arbor for a birthday weekend celebration — which included a gathering at The Pretzel Bell — a tradition my dad explained to me. A maize & blue paper bell was signed for you by everyone who shared the party with you. A time-honored U of M tradition. The Pretzel Bell eventually closed (after being open from 1934-1985) and my dad and I lamented this when we were looking at boxes of memories (including her paper bell that I alighted on) on my mom’s first birthday after her death, September 12th, 2015.

But that wasn’t where the story ended! The Pretzel Bell reopened in a new location also near campus in 2016. I learned this when the new Instagram account for The Pretzel Bell interacted with the photo of my mom’s bell from her 21st celebration. My dad was overjoyed and we agreed we had to visit on our next Ann Arbor trip.

That trip took place in October 2017, and that much anticipated visit to #meetmeunderthebell happened on a gorgeous Michigan fall Friday afternoon. It’s hard to find the words to describe how it felt seeing all of the memorabilia from a place where my mom and dad clinked glasses and laughed and celebrated with friends. Where love was stoked, where memories were made. Where they existed together before I ever existed.

We relished the terrific food, the Michigan local beverages, a stellar dessert, and simply lovely surroundings. My daughter, Amelia, made herself at home and the restaurant staff who cared for us could not have been warmer or more receptive and kind after hearing our story. Caring hearts. We were even treated to something special reserved for birthday celebrations: our own little bell, which Amelia rang repeatedly with a joy only a toddler knows.

Fast forward to 2024. The story was renewed again. Incomprehensibly it is nine years since my mama was alive, and three since my daddy was alive. That memento bell from our 2017 visit? I unpacked it from a box labeled “SPECIAL! Open ASAP!” moving into our new home and set it out on my dresser with a handful of other treasures relating to my parents.

Remembering how my daddy’s immense heart was constantly beating for honoring people and places and moments which made us. Realizing that purpose has melded with my own. Making plans for our upcoming Michigan trip to take Amelia and Luka to the Pretzel Bell to lift a glass to Grampy and Grammy and the love which paved the way to today.

If you’re ever in Ann Arbor, go. Lift a glass for my mom and my dad. And remember that places with history stay with us — even in life’s twists and turns.