Tedious Quotidian Update 43.7.3.vii

Teddy Bear T. Dog and I escaped for a short, hot ramble yesterday. It was redeemed by small puffy clouds passing overhead sometimes giving us shade, a luxuriant, cooling WSW wind, solitude and late summer colors. There has been so much smoke in the air in recent weeks that it’s been challenging to find a window of opportunity. Teddy had a GREAT time. There must have been a whole Noah’s Ark of animals out there since his last jaunt. The day was clear, even to the end. A bright, white moon — the first in weeks that hasn’t been orange from smoke — passed overhead.

This past weekend was my 50th (51st) high school reunion, but I didn’t go. Friends texted from the reunion saying they missed me and were going to Zoom. I attempted that twice, but for good or ill (I’ll never know) there were problems. Photos on Facebook illustrated the passing of time. I was thinking last night as I looked at the photos that we’re all massive accumulations of stories, some of which intersect. How in the world can all of those stories even fit into one room?

I really want to know about these people. I liked them in high school. We were — as it turns out — a rather astonishing group. My English teacher told me that but I thought she was just being encouraging. I wonder what — for each of them — was the biggest moment for them in the 50+ year interval (other than the births of their children)? What do they wish they could have done but never had the opportunity to do? What did they do that they never imagined they would do? Something wonderful? Did they “stay on course” or (like me) wander all over the place? Are they who they thought they’d be or, back then, did they really have NO idea? Did their values change along the way? How? And here I am: the same “girl” I was back in the day, wanting to have deep conversations with people.

My deep conversations are here on Women’s Wilderness Legend, Waterproof. Some of my high school classmates read this blog and, as a result, they, at least, know me, but not everyone gets up every morning and spends the golden 30 minutes drinking that blessed and sainted cup of awesome coffee, punching the keys on their laptop.

Any Road

Last night I let my high school class know I probably will not be attending our 50th (51st thanks COVID) reunion next month. I might, but right now I’m doubtful. I was lucky driving home from Colorado Springs that there was little traffic. I don’t think I could manage a two-handed evasive maneuver with my arm as it is right now. This realization dampened my enthusiasm.

I don’t see the doc until the 27th. Even then I have no idea what it will mean. And…I can still show up if it works out.

But…I am at this point in my life a little surprised at what my high school classmates mean to me. Out of our class of 200+ only about 60 had signed up for the reunion. I know some of my classmates have shirked off this mortal coil, others aren’t interested in high school reunions, others are too far away. After 51 years, 60 attendees is a pretty good number. Many of those coming to the reunion I don’t remember at all, but they remember me (?). One of them was once my sister-in-law! I wonder if she remembers that? All she seems to remember is that we were in the same gym class. IF I go, I will give her a stained glass box her sister made for me one Christmas. Another (who still hates me) married one of my best friends from college. It didn’t work out which was somehow my fault. Another’s reading group read Martin of Gfenn and we Skyped so I could enter their discussion. Others I’ve been in and out of touch with this whole time. Some of them were my classmates in junior high, and one of THEM — my best friend in 9th grade — is the cousin of my friend Lois’ best friend. Thanks to Facebook we found each other again and we’re happy about it. The world is small even if you don’t stay in the same place your whole life.

Each of us is vessel holding a lifetime of unique experiences. My own life is full of more stories than I ever could have imagined in 1970 when we all graduated. It’s crazy. We’re all survivors of godnose what. Whatever our stories, here we are.

Anyway, I hope I can go…