Our wild class reunion

My class reunion on Saturday night was the best one I've ever attended.  There was no band which meant we could actually hear each other talking, so talk we did.  The event was scheduled from 4:30 until 7:30 and we closed the place down after 10:00.  I woke up on Sunday morning hoarse.  I guess we're finally old enough to throw a good party.

(I'd like to publicly thank Colleen's husband for buying me a drink even though I am aware that Colleen told him to do so.  It was the only beverage of any sort I drank all night and by the time it came I was parched.) 

I did not bring my own dear husband to the reunion because he knew no one and I didn't want to feel I had to waste time by filling him in on all the back-stories that went with each conversation.  Plus, he refused to come.  Said he didn't want to attend his own reunion, why would he want to come to mine?  It's hard to argue with that kind of logic.

I stretched my memory to recall things about everyone I talked to.  I told Tim I was sorry that I hit him in the stomach and made him cry at that basketball game long ago.  I talked about the notes Betsy and I passed in Mrs. Morey's math class.  I thanked Glenn for dancing with me at the twice-a-year mixers in junior high.  I forgave Tom for declaring his undying love for Diane while simultaneously telling me he wouldn't date me if I were the last girl on earth.  (Sixth grade was a tough year for me.)

I told Robin I remembered that slumber party where she told the scary story about the lady with the beehive hairdo who never washed it and then ants got in there and they chewed through her scalp.  I admired Teri's beautiful, long nails.  I reminded Jamie about how kicked me in the mouth while practicing his cartwheels.  I mentioned to Steve the time we skipped Sunday school to go hang out by the river. I told Pam she owed me the quarter that she borrowed at the county fair in eighth grade.  That was actually a joke (or was it?) but, to her credit, she fished around in her purse for one.

It seemed weird to me but not one of these people I talked to seemed to remember any of these insignificant events.  I could have dug deeper into my treasure box of memories but I was so busy having fun that I didn't bother.  Plus, I felt certain that at least Tim really did remember, I mean - come on!  How often does a girl punch you in the stomach hard enough to make you cry? 

During a lull in the conversations, one of the sweetest (and cutest) boys from our class came up to me and announced that he'd had a crush on me in high school.  (Information, it seems, that might have been more useful forty years ago.)
                  "But you knew that." he said.

                  "No, this is the first I've heard of it."

                  "Yes you did.  I told your best friend."

                  "Well, she didn't tell me." I replied.

                  "I told her not to."


Mystery solved!  Apparently Kendra is one of a select group of women in this world who can actually keep a secret.  Although I felt a twinge of regret for what might have been, how cool to find evidence at this late date that my friend was a woman of her word! 

Every class has that painfully shy girl with the long brown hair. Ours has dyed hers a flattering shade of red, had it stylishly cut and was dressed to kill - great outfit, beautiful jewelry, the whole deal.  Absolutely everything about her looked perfect.  Most of the evening she stood sizzlin' at the bar surrounded by guys - both single and married  - who were falling all over themselves to buy her drinks.  That's gotta feel good!  She looked absolutely terrific.  Said she gained confidence when she had her first child at age forty.  You go, girl!

After the party was over and I had stopped at the beer tent to say my final farewells, I immediately went back to Detroit.  As much fun as reminiscing can be, it can't compare to waking up to your daughter bringing her beautiful baby boy into your bedroom to play.  All of the women I talked to in the Class of '71 would agree with that. 

Road Trip, Part I

After mulling the idea over in my mind, I decided to embark on my very first cross-country road trip, driving from South Carolina to Michigan to attend my high school class reunion.   The unveiling of my plan was met with a dull thud.  Nobody except me was at all enchanted by it.  

Everyone in my family knows I don't like to drive and always avoid it whenever possible so, frankly, they all thought this idea was to ridiculous to even entertain.  At first, they tried to talk me out of it.  Then, Jerry actually offered to drive me up himself and just turn around and fly back.  That idea really added to my feelings of self-confidence and competence.

Their truly impressive lack of faith in my abilities fueled my desire to make the trip.  It was like the ultimate double dog dare! While it is true that during my first driver's ed class I drove on a sidewalk for about a third of a block, I did somehow pass the driver's test on my sixteenth birthday and I have held a valid license ever since.  The decision had been made and was is final.

Having thrown caution to the wind and abandoned all good sense and judgment,  I was so excited I couldn't sleep. Instead of leaving at 6:00 am like I'd planned, I left at 3:01, probably not my smartest move.  The first thing I saw as I turned my first corner was what some people might indelicately call a rat, but I prefer to think of as a bunny with a long, hairless tail. I've never seen a rat in the wild before (if you can call my neighborhood "the wild") and it seemed like a bad omen.

My first leg of the journey would be an easy eight hour trip from Charlotte to Cleveland, a straight shot up I-77.  I'm legendary for being a pokey driver, so I decided that this time would be different.  I would use cruise control and program it exactly for the speed limit.  The first hour flew by.  I checked the odometer.  51.6 miles.  I had expected it to be 60 miles so I was a little let down by that.  I rationalized that getting onto the highway was the slowdown.  I would make up for it the rest of the way.

An hour later I stopped at a rest stop.  It was still the dead of the night but the parking lot was full of cars. Nobody was walking around though.  That spooked me.  All the rest stop horror stories I've ever heard flooded into my mind.  I got nervous about getting out of the car.  As time ticked by, I became more nervous about not getting out of the car.  About the time I was getting desperate, another woman showed up, so I zoomed into the bathroom right behind her.  That rest stop break set me back about fifteen minutes. 

Forty-five minutes later, I was getting drowsy.  The more I thought about it, the sleepier I got so I stopped yet again at a rest stop and took a little cat nap that lasted a smidgen over three hours.  When I woke up, I decided that it was the same as if I'd have left at six am.  As an added plus, my snooze had served to break the trip up, so there wasn't so much ahead of me.  Since nobody really knew what time I had left,  I could still wow them by arriving early.  Then I hit Fancy Gap.  And fog.  Driving through the clouds is exciting!  (And slow.) 

After fog came rain, buckets and buckets of rain.  Other drivers stopped by the side of the road, but Mario Zimmerman pressed on and into sunny weather. 

The rest was an easy drive.  I rolled into my daughter's driveway just in time for supper.  Trip time: slightly under fourteen hours.

Take a bow, Chris.  You did it.  TA-DA!!