High School Reunion

September 14, 2008 at 12:00 pm (SLICE OF LIFE)
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I’ve had my second nap of the day, I’m savoring my third cup of tea along with another round of aspirin.  I’m ready to talk reunion.

Twenty years is a long time and yet it isn’t. Overall, most people don’t seem to change much. That said, I didn’t recognize anyone at first. No one. When I told Doug that he was kind enough to blatantly point people out. I mean pointing literally, long arm outstretched. Doug is as subtle as ever. Also absolutely correct. When I looked I could see few of them had changed at all. The same features, the same voices, the same mannerisms. Now if I could only make myself talk to them. It’s miserable being shy. I’ve spent the last twenty years pushing myself past it but when faced with a roomful of people I hadn’t seen since 1988 I reverted right back to it. But only a little. Because I’ve done braver things than start a conversation with someone who might not remember me from German class. (Ja. Four years und mein Deutscher saugt.*) And because I really did want to talk to everyone.

I had a great time. That’s what you all want to know. “Are you glad you went?”, “Was it fun?”, “Should I go to mine?” Yes, yes, and (again) yes. Everyone had a great time. They hugged (lots). They took pictures (like crazy). They danced their asses off. It’s a known fact that upon being reunited after decades people do not risk embarrassment and dance. Even the DJ warned “No one will dance”. The class of eighty-eight danced though. And when the lights came on we refused to go home. We climbed into each other’s cars and carried the party out into the world.

One of the best things about the night was looking at guys I’ve known nearly my entire life and seeing them as both the little boys I’d known back then and the men they are now. The two images melded together easily because – on the surface at least – they are just the same. No matter what they’ve encountered in life it hasn’t changed their basic personalities and that makes me happy. They’re still themselves. Around two in the morning someone admitted to feeling their age every now and then, but for the most part I don’t think we do. There’s responsibility and a layer of maturity that makes us more serious. We are not children. We haven’t lost our enthusiasm for living either though. It’s tempered by the necessities of adulthood but not diminished. Moderated but not moderate. I was proud of the class of eighty-eight. For grown-ups we pretty much rock.

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* If you can decipher this please don’t humiliate me by sending e-mails in German. Unless you want to discuss the weather (Heute ist sonnig. Der himmel ist blau.) or body parts (Ich mag Ihr gesicht. Ihre augen. ooh… Augenbrauen. I love that word.). Otherwise I’m really useless. Do not expect intelligent conversation.

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Four Children and One Score Years Ago

September 3, 2008 at 3:04 pm (ARCANA, SLICE OF LIFE)
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My high school reunion is in ten days. I am ill-prepared. I meant to be traveling the world with a paint brush in my hand, taller, slimmer, and more interesting. I meant to have little books published and use the money to buy up farmland, like Beatrix Potter. I meant to be an au pair in France, to join the Peace Corp, to float down the Yangtze River. I meant to be better, to make something of myself. What happened to the last twenty years?

Somewhere along the way I was distracted. That shouldn’t surprise me.

And yet. What happened to those twenty years? Glancing back I see at least one year wasted “looking for myself”. Which means partying, living completely in the moment. Avoiding myself. A decade spent changing diapers. A decade! Several years plodding along in a fog of emptiness, having lost my sense of self. (See previous statement involving diapers.) I have no excuse for all those other missing years. None at all.  And I don’t think I can pack a lot of serious living into less than two weeks. If I had two full weeks maybe, but I have just ten days. Ten days in which I also have to visit Jaime and hope she can manage my unmanageable hair, have my teeth cleaned, schedule liposuction, and consider having my nails done. Once, long ago, I subjected myself to my cosmetology school enrolled mother and her torturous nail treatment. She took a little stick and pushed my offensive cuticles back. I ran away sucking on my injured fingers and crying. Maybe I shouldn’t have my nails done. I do have to find something to wear. I have nothing suitable for seeing people I haven’t thought of in twenty years. This requires new clothes, new shoes, stockings even. Yes, I said stockings. I don’t want to look like some hick with a passel of kids, living in the same town after all this time. I want to give the impression of urbanity. I was thinking I should take an internet course on making small talk; my savoir-faire is a bit lacking. That should leave me about five days to do something impressive. Not necessarily what I’d like to do – there’s time for that after the reunion, when no one’s looking anymore. No, something really cool, like counting frog species in the jungles of Central America.

Actually, I could fit a lot into five days. Someone will have to bring the frogs to me though. The school bus comes back at four and I’ll need to be home.

I have had a few adventures in the last twenty years. No one ever asks about those. They ask things like “Where do you work?”. Here’s the questionnaire for our reunion booklet:  

  1. Do you have children? Yes. Many.
  2. What are your hobbies/interests? art, reading, history, travel, nature…
  3. Where do you work and what do you do? I work from home as a freelance artist, author of numerous unpublished novels in e-mail form, slovenly housekeeper, sandwich maker, and mother.
  4. What is your favorite high school memory? The time I spent away from school on unauthorized field trips. If every day had been toga day I might have spent more time in school.
  5. What is your greatest accomplishment since high school? My children. Keeping my head above water.

Number four could be better. I am a little ashamed I couldn’t come up with a specific memory – a story to tell. Otherwise, I’m not entirely unhappy with those answers. It’s a good life. But I want more. Chances are the next twenty years will pass by even faster than the last and I intend to spend them more fully. I’d better get busy.

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