Reunion Reflections

I originally posted this entry earlier today, but now I'm coming back to it to add a bit here, change a bit there. See if I can flesh out my thoughts a bit more. 

I went to my 25^th high school reunion on Saturday night. As most or many will say in that situation, "How did I get to be this old??" Honestly, it seems like just yesterday that I was in high school. I can barely fathom that it's been 25 years. I think all my fellow grads felt the same way.

Fortunately for me, I enjoy going to reunions like this. I missed my 10th, even after helping to plan it, but made it to the 20th and will certainly show up at any and all that come along in the future as I am able. I enjoy them, but I know that some folks do not. I've met more than one person who would never even considering attending their high school reunion.  That makes me a little sad, but I have to remind myself that 1) not everyone had a good experience in high school and 2) not everyone is quite the sentimental type that I am over stuff like this. I tend to want to bond for life. I mean, I would still be keeping up and spending time with people I knew in nursery school if I could get them to go along with it. LOL  Maybe I have attachment issues...

I laughed myself silly at dinner sitting with my friend Ken and his wife Rachel and some other folks.  Ken has some interesting memories from high school. I’m not saying they didn’t happen - although he did mention *ahem* certain reasons why his memory might be muddled from those years - but they sure were funny! I laughed till my sides hurt and for that, I am grateful.  Now if I could only remember if I really did do and say those things! Or maybe it's better if I forget.

The high school reunion is an interesting animal.  I mean, where else can you go that people will come up and talk to you like they know you, but you know for a fact that you never spoke two words to each other during all four years of high school? Now, I don't mean that as a criticism at all. I really don't. It's a little odd (to me, anyway), but mostly it's really nice. There seems to be something about a shared experience that connects people as we grow older, regardless of how well they knew or did not know each other once upon a time. At least, that’s what I have found to be true. So I know I hugged people and talked to people that I never spoke to  in high school for whatever reason and to me, that's fun.  My hope would always be that any bad experiences or teenage cliquish divisions can be left at the door of the banquet hall and a good time can be had by all.  Our group sure seemed to make that work on Saturday night.  Yay us!  I tried to talk to as many people as I could, but I know I didn't manage to get to everyone. But that's the only way I know to enjoy those gatherings - get up and move around and mingle. I've yet to regret doing it.

I must say that my jealousy was in high gear that night as well. The ladies I graduated with are all looking wonderful. I, however, am not. Let's not discuss the size of my butt. Please, I beg of you. Hence, there will be no posting of photos from the weekend.  Yeah, I was jealous, but I also like cake. You can see the problem here. It is, however, my problem, but I'll try to turn it around and say that I thought everyone looked wonderful.  Did I mention I was jealous?  But I'm going to get rid of that problem before the next go-round, if to make no one happy but myself.

Yeah, I'll keep going to my high school reunions when I am able and will hopefully continue to enjoy them as well.  It'll be sadder as years go on and some folks are unable to be there. That's the worst part - the folks who have passed away since we graduated.  Poignant reminders that life is short.

I couldn't find many clips that I really loved from movies or TV shows about high school reunions. I know there are movies about reunions, but it's been so long since I've seen them that nothing stands out. But this clip from Designing Women has always been a favorite (because of my own weight issues I have no doubt) and I'd love to have a reunion weekend with my college friends.  Just not because anyone has died. Please, let's get together when we all have the chance to do so. I think it would be worth it.

 The best part is around 4 minutes into this clip.

Not high school, but I dare say that I think my college friends and I need to have a big, crazy reunion weekend.  But not involving anyone's death please.

On the occasion of my 25th high school reunion

This weekend is my 25^th high school reunion. I’m only going to one of the events, later tonight, because, well, I’m old and I’m tired and I can’t stay awake past about 9pm on a Friday night. I’d never have made it through the football festivities last night. I also only went to 1 football game in 4 years of high school, so going now would see odd. So I slept through whatever shenanigans happened last night, but maybe I’m rested up to get into some this evening.  

Shenanigans or not, it should be an interesting evening.  I think I am about the only one of my smaller core group of friends from “back in the day” who will be in attendance.  We were all together 5 years ago for the 20^th reunion and had a ridiculous amount of fun, but for various and sundry reason, most will not be attending this time.

We had a very large graduating class so it was impossible to know everyone, but over the years, due to reunion planning meetings and social media, I’ve had the pleasure to get to know better a lot of people whose names and faces I may have known, but who I did not know personally back in high school. I like that. I like it a lot. Life is not high school and not all about high school.  Thank goodness!  

High school is hard (and so is life, but work with me here). If you get out unscathed, well, you’re lucky.  Kids are mean to each other. Just nasty for some reason. Maybe it’s raging hormones or the needs to pick on someone who is an easier target than you are because someone is doing the same to you or who the hell knows what it is, but high school is hard.   

I had what I consider a run-of-the-mill high school experience.  It had highs and lows, but it wasn’t anything spectacular – except my prom dress. That was damned spectacular. – and that’s fine with me.  My parents sheltered me too much by not letting me ride in cars with teenager drivers or letting me go out with friends, so that colored the experience a lot. I did go place and do things, but only sometimes.  I’m not sure what the need was to be quite so controlling, but it’s a long time past. It colors how and who I am now, but that’s a blog post for another time. I do consider my high school experience to be pretty typical and certainly tame.  

I don’t recall being picked on or bullied with the exception of one instance my freshman year of high school. However, the joke was on the jokesters, whether they knew it or not. Some boys chose to tell me one day at lunch that so-and-so thought I was cute.  When I excited the cafeteria, they were laughing about that since it apparently hadn’t been true.  But you see, I had no idea who the boy was that they were talking about. I was new to that school and it was probably just a month or so into the school year. I had never heard of this boy before and while at least one friend thought he was cute, once I figure out who he was, well, let’s just say I did not agree.  No offense to the boy, now man, in question, but he wasn’t my type and based on more recent photos, still isn’t.  I’m not sure why I remember that incident except maybe *because* I was able to roll my eyes and shrug it off so easily.  I was lucky because maybe folks were talking behind my back at times, but I was never aware. If they’d wanted me to know, they’d have said it to my face, right?

The high school reunion is an interesting thing. I have always been gung ho about them. I don’t care if it’s a room full of close friends or full of people I did not know very well, I’m game to chat with folks and play catch up and have a good time.  But I know folks who would consider attending a reunion akin to the torture of the damned. I have never understood that, but we obviously had different experiences. Speaking with someone at work earlier this week, they said, “I have trouble making it to my *college* reunions…and those are people that I *liked*!” Clearly, we had different experiences.

So me, I’m looking forward to a few hours of visiting and catching up or, quite frankly, talking to people that I may never have spoken to before in my life because we didn’t run in the same circles, we just ran inside the same arena.  We’ll be in the same room. We might as well talk.  And if that turns out to be a bust, I’ll get some cake from the buffet, stuff my face, then hop in my car and drive home, wiser from the experience.  Now if you’ll excuse me, I should get going and actually attempt to get ready. I looked all over to find my cute little black clutch purse to carry, but it is clearly hiding in the witness protection program somewhere in South America.  Instead, I’ll carry  my Walmart Tinkerbell purse.  It’s probably so much more of who I am than the other one is and 25 years on, I’m damned sure not going to pretend I’m someone else.

A Case of Mistaken Identity, Or…What I Did on My Summer Vacation

I took a vacation this summer.  An actual get-in-your-car-and-leave-the-state vacation, which is so unlike me.  Apparently I needed it though as several people at work commented that they were glad when I was leaving town. Um…now that I think about it, maybe they were sending me a different message than the one I interpreted.  Hmmm…

Either way, I packed up my Impala and hit the interstate, trekking from South Carolina to Virginia, back to the town I grew up in.  I moved out of this town 29 years ago, right before I started high school, but I’ve been back a couple of times since then to visit a friend. She doesn’t live there anymore, but I know a few folks who do, so the plan was to see them, see the area, visit places in Richmond and then move on to see another friend or two in Newport News.  For the most part, it all worked out, but unfortunately I did not get to see some of my friends. Maybe one day we’ll connect again face-to-face. I hope so!

This probably isn’t most people’s idea of a vacation, but you see, I never grew up taking vacations.  Every year, at Thanksgiving and Easter, my parents would pack up their big, green Oldsmobile with 2 kids, 2 dogs and a cooler full or sandwiches and snack size Snickers and Milky Way bars and make the trip down I-95 back to SC, where they were both from, to visit the family.  I don’t think any of us really enjoyed those trips because, hello, 2 young kids and 2 dogs plus 8 or more hours of driving (and doubtless the kids’ complaining) doesn’t make for the happiest of times. But as my father said later on in my life, it was a free vacation and that’s how the grandparents got to see us, so off we went.  It was a vacation we could afford, so outside of annual outings to Busch Gardens and Kings Dominion, that’s the only kind of vacation I grew up knowing.  To this day, it’s a challenge for me to go somewhere for a vacation.  I don’t have much money to spend to begin with, so spending it on a vacation isn’t the first thing I think of.  However, having previously discussed with some friends about mutually wanting to see each other, I finally made plans for this trip and it only took me 2 years to follow through.



I was raised in a VERY pink and green, late 70s bedroom.  Can you dig it?



The drive up took longer than I had planned, but I arrived on a Saturday evening and took a look around town. It’s not a big town, so that didn’t take too long, although I didn’t drive all over the place.  Unfortunately, I decided to drive past my old house and it was just, well, sad.  Really, really sad.  The people who own it now don’t seem to take good care of the place – at least on the outside – and I’m not sure I would want to see the inside.  The last time I was there I knew that the place didn’t look so great, but I guess my memories dulled.  The neighborhood is still a nice, middle-class place with nice homes and yards (for the most part), but I know my mother would be sad at the state of the yard since she loved gardening and put a lot of work into her yards over the years. 



One snowy winter day with my neighborhood friend David.



Obviously this is someone else’s home now and they can do whatever they want to do, so I moved on and lamented over it a bit, but chose to put the current state of things into a box and dump it in the trash.  Why?  Because it’s not my home anymore and I have such good memories of my home.   I’m not letting go of that good stuff just because of some bad stuff. No way!



That spruce tree behind us is a LOT bigger now than it was about 40 years ago.



My parents were the first owners of that house and some of the first people in that new neighborhood period.  The trees are bigger now and a lot of people have moved out.  I recognized things and places, but it was also confusing.  That’s my house, but yet, it’s not my house.  It’s not the house I grew up in, even if the bones of the structure are still there. 

That’s what I found out about the whole town. It’s the town I grew up in, but yet, it’s not my hometown.  For years, I’ve protested in my mind that I am from Virginia, not South Carolina.  If asked, I say, “I was born and raised in Virginia, but I’ve lived in South Carolina for a long time.”  I remember being so excited when my parents talked about moving. I like change and new things and new people and it’s easy when you are a kid to forget how change is going to affect you.  How it might be a challenge to make new friends or learn about new places.  How things will be different.  I loved growing up in my small town and while it is still small now, it’s grown a lot over the years.  But it’s not where I am from. Not anymore.



This whole photos screams "It's the 1970s!!" I can even tell you with 99% accuracy what I am eating out of that bowl, if anyone is interested.



I didn’t set out on this trip with any dedicated notions of “finding myself” or having any great revelations, but I knew when I set off that I needed to go “home” as an adult.  I thought to myself about a previous trip with my father for a friend’s wedding and how he was driving and I was the passenger. I said to myself, “Things look different in the driver’s seat than they do in the passenger’s seat.” I was speaking about how the landscape literally can look different if you are the driver versus the passenger, but it’s quite a true statement about life in general.  It’s active versus passive.  This time I needed to be active and then I found out it’s not my home.  That little town isn’t where I’m from. It’s not the place that molded and shaped me into the person I am today.  It was a great place to grow up and likely still is, but it’s not my home.

That was a hard realization to take, even though I am sure I knew it deep down already.  I’m glad I went – and gladder still for the friends I was able to see and sad over those I did not get to see – but I’m not ever going back again. I pulled out of the hotel parking lot my last day there and in my heart I bid that town a farewell and yes, I even cried a little bit.  That’s what you do when you put something aside and move on I guess.  I doubt anyone noticed, but several days later, after I was home, I even removed that town as being where I am from on Facebook.  You know nothing is ever official until it happens on Facebook right? 

I am so glad I took the time to get away for a while, see friends and family, visit one of my favorite states – how can you not love all the history that abides in the great state of Virginia?!?! -  and get some time away from work. I came back with a peace that I didn’t know I was looking for, but found anyway.   And now I am ready to acknowledge that I am “from” South Carolina.  It’s the state that really raised me, after all.

Sitting in the backyard swing with one of our dogs, Riddles, in the spring of 1982, 3 years before we would move out of Chester, VA.

 

I don't remember growing older...

Does aging just hit you out of the blue? I'm not talking about looking as if you are aging. Thankfully that is usually a slow process.  Which is actually kinda sneaky now that I think about it, but still much less traumatic than waking up overnight and seeing that your face has aged 10 years in 8 hours.

What I'm talking about is the reality of it - the thoughts and feelings and whatever else.  Does it simply hit you out of the blue?  Sneak up on you when you aren't looking?  Because that's how I've been feeling lately and I'd be a much happier person if that would stop.  Like...now.  Pronto. 

Oh, it's not that I don't realize I am getting older - my knees remind me of this daily, if nothing else does - but I'm not sure I fully grasped this situation until some time recently.  Perhaps I have simply ignored the fact that I am getting older, but lately it seems to be thrown in my face with regularity.  Not by anyone but myself really, but still.  Ouch.  Whether it is my health issues or...or....or, well, other stuff, it's there. It's out there! On no!!! Run for the hills!! It's out there!!!  Except my knees can barely tolerate walking down a flight of stairs, let alone running.

Yesterday it occurred to me that my life hasn't turned out the way I had expected it to.  I then thought, "Well, how did you expect it to turn out?" and I didn't have an answer.  Mostly because I still think I have miles and miles of road in front of me when the reality is that if I am lucky, then I am currently middle aged. That would mean I live until my early 80s, but there's not guarantee of that.

Too many thoughts in my head about this right now.  I know I'm thinking too much - I over-think pretty much everything.  All. The. Time.  But is it just me or does aging hit other people out of the blue?  I knew I would get older one day (or be dead, so older is likely the preferable alternative if someone is in good health and able to take care of themselves), but I don't think I really believed it would happen.  *sigh*  The follies of youth!  I guess if I am fortunately enough to only be at middle age right now, then I need to consider how I want to live the rest of the years I am granted here on Earth.  I have no clue, but I suppose it's time I find out.

In which I read miles into a simple look on a man's face

I have been an observer of people lately it seems.  I have quality time at my local airport every week as a volunteer, so I do a lot of people watching those days, but these are other times that have popped up recently.  In the lobby waiting for “Jersey Boys” to start and again this past Friday at a Celtic music concert.  It’s interesting to me to see how people walk and move and what they wear. How the interact with others or their expressions while they just stand there waiting for someone. 

Friday night I attended a Celtic music concert in town that kicked off a weekend festival. I had heard one band before, Rathkeltair, and had heard of another, Seven Nations (though technically I did see their original lineup play a reunion show in 2006) and one was totally foreign (pardon the upcoming pun) to me, the Scottish medieval rock band Saor (pronounced Shore) Patrol.  While I really want to write a whole story on the woman that was dancing with a light pole during the Seven Nations set and shaking it so much that those of us closest to her honestly thought it was going to come crashing down on us, I won’t.  You had to be there for that or at least have video and I actually do have enough manners not to take pictures of people possibly embarrassing themselves, though I have to say that the lady in question was having fun and didn’t care who was looking and, thankfully, also did not turn it into a true pole dance.  For that, I’m sure everyone was grateful.

During the music I would look around now and then and observe what people were doing.  Mostly just milling about, kids running, friends greeting each other, and sadly for others, getting up to leave early. I mean, if they left before Saor Patrol came on then it was a huge mistake.  Such a great group to see live and such amazing power from the drummers.  As they were taking the stage and getting going, I looked off to my right and saw the lead singer of Seven Nations, Kirk McLeod, departing.  He’d hung around awhile, talking to the previously mentioned dancing fan and some other folks, but he’d now packed up his guitar and, with it slung over his shoulder, he was heading up a slight incline, most likely headed to his car and back to his hotel.  As I watched, he looked back once at what was happening on the stage, turned, and continued his slow and steady steps until he was out of my sight, hidden by the bushes.

The look on that man’s face spoke volumes to me.  I saw worlds flash in that face, in just those few minutes.  Maybe it was the dark night that surrounded him or the cast of the lighting from the aforementioned light pole as it hit his face.  I’m not sure, but he looked tired.  Pensive.  Resigned.  Peaceful.  So many different adjectives came to mind.  I wondered what was going through his mind at that moment, when I watched him do what looked like bid a farewell to the night and walk away with the resignation that one gig was over, but more were to come and perhaps there was no rest for the weary.  The slowness of his step, the look he cast over his shoulder.  Those made me feel like this was a man who has lived a lot in his life and he’s tired, at least for that night.  I wished he’d turn toward the crowd so I could have waved to him as in those few seconds, I felt like he needed a wave and a smile.   

Sad.  Contemplative.  Determined.  Just what was going on in your head Kirk?  Well, I’ll never know I suppose as we aren’t likely to cross paths again in this life except over a merchandise table at next year’s festival, but I am going to keep wondering. I can see his face in my mind and I can’t help wondering just what he was thinking.  Some say that it’s a woman’s nature to read into things much more than is there and I imagine I am doing that in this case.  It’s not like the man had had a bad night as a cheering crowd had greeted his band’s music with enthusiasm and perhaps he was truly tired and ready for sleep or relaxation with friends and family (my understanding is that the band got its start in my hometown which is only an hour away, so maybe he had people waiting on him for a visit).  As I said, I’ll never know, but his lone look back over his shoulder, the slow and steady pace with which he walked, the lighting of the night, it all came together to paint a lovely and interesting picture for me.  So I’ll go on wondering what was playing through his head every time his music plays through my speakers.  And I’ll be grateful for that one moment that he knows nothing about, but that I found oh so fascinating.