By 11 o’clock Friday night I had no doubt my physical body and mental alertness were 58 years old. But the point of the evening’s celebrations was to honor the 18-year-old buried deep within, right? Recalling that “girl,” persisting just a few moments longer, was exhilarating and I didn’t want to give it up quite yet. The clock hadn’t struck midnight, the coach hadn’t reverted to a pumpkin, the DJ music played on, the food was delectable, I pried my eyes open by sheer will and then “La Bamba” or George Thorogood or “Light My Fire” played and we all jumped (hobbled?) up to dance.
Just hours before I was wondering who would be there? And would I be able to recognize anyone? Forty years is a long time and people age. I’ve been coloring my hair for so long I don’t know what color it really is now. (After reading Nora Ephron’s book, I Feel Bad About My Neck, I figure I’ve got another 20 years of hair coloring to look forward to, which should suggest a long term investment strategy for purchase of stocks if anyone is interested.) Still, my skin is not “plump” with natural collagens, the lips are less defined, the circles under the eyes a little darker or bigger or both, and as they say, aging is not for sissies. (Those 5 women who have obviously made a Faustian-like deal with the devil and look like they are just turning 21, they don’t count.)
So, the routine went like this: Walk up to someone, stare deeply into his or her face to discern any recognizable feature, dig way back in the memory for a name, glance down (as surreptitiously as possible) at the name tag, and go back to the rolodex in the brain to connect the name to a factoid. I swear it was tiring. If the nametag didn’t have a little Highland symbol, I knew he or she was a spouse and I couldn’t POSSIBLY have known anything about them, and that was a relief. And if all my efforts produced not a shred of recognition or recollection, the same thing was happening to the person in question and we both said simultaneously, “Well, with 737 people in our graduating class, how could we possibly know everyone” whereupon we’d shake hands, introduce ourselves and meet a new friend. How else could it go, I ask you?
I don’t think anyone threw out his/her back dancing. I personally got a little winded, but since it was mostly group dancing, I could sit down whenever. Somehow, sadly, I missed the conga-line. That really looked like fun.
The food was, in a word, delicious. It seemed like every hour we were being offered new, tasty morsels. Fortunately, I’d suspended my Weight Watchers membership for the week and allowed myself the luxury of tasting everything…until it came to the beans, which looked wonderful and I love beans, but, … and the ribs. Denying myself the beans was one thing, but I really love bar-b-qued ribs, so I decided if I could find a toothpick before the meal began, or if I could get access to one, I would have a rib. I promise you, at 18 years old that would not have crossed my mind, but then my teeth weren’t so problematic. Fortunately, a Highlander with a heart and a similar problem came to my rescue and I enjoyed the ribs.
At 8 o’clock the facility was packed. By 9:30 after the food had been served the space seemed slightly less crowded. By 10:30 the crowd was definitely thinning out, though a number of people remained. I, myself, was reminded by the internal clock that messes me up whenever I travel to a different time zone that I should be in bed because 10:00 is bedtime, but I was able to shut off that reverse alarm or at least push the pause button for a while. A little more water, another sweet desert, then, a tasty taco, more conversation (I’d given up dancing by then), and it was 12:30. A new day, another fond memory, but definitely time to call it good.
Back in Seattle, it’s Monday morning. We just had 2 deafening claps of thunder and now a rainstorm of grand proportions. I hope everyone returned home safely; that all people reconnected with that amazing “tartan” thread of the past that keeps us grounded; that we are all nestled into the present and continue down the path of life that is good and true. See you in 10?
THANKS TO ALL THE SPHS 1971 REUNION COMMITTEE and Mitch for his generosity, and Kerry for her organizational skills, and Pat for making nametags big enough for us to read and the toothpick and everyone else for set-up, clean up, the In Memoriam film…love to all.
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