The reunion was fine. It was our 30th. I'll let you do the math on that rather than say it aloud, and if anyone asks, I'm still 41 years old, okay? I had a few reservations about attending because there were a few really immature folks at our last reunion that kind of turned me off from the whole thing, but at the last minute I decided to go, and I'm glad I did. There were some people there whom I hadn't seen in thirty years, and it was good to reconnect with them. I was really pleased that I didn't fail to recognize anyone. That happened at the last reunion, and I was really embarrassed. We were smart enough to have name tags this time, thank heavens.The odd thing about this reunion was the realization that we are old enough to have grandchildren. Sweet mother of Mabel, how is that possible?! Everyone's conversation about their kids revolved around college, grad school and weddings and for some, grandbabies. As I stood there talking to one friend who has two grandchildren, my brain kept rejecting that notion. In fact, that scene from Terms of Endearment where Aurora has trouble accepting that she's going to be a grandmother rolled through my head. Twice.
It just doesn't seem possible that thirty years has passed since we tossed our graduation caps in the air and leaped into the wild wild world of adulthood. The proof is there, though, in the thinning hair and thicker waists. Despite our best efforts to tuck everything in with Spanx and straighten our posture, it's impossible to hide the fact that we're just not as young as we used to be. We're the people we never thought we'd become. I have mixed feelings about that. Is that the way my parents felt just a couple of decades ago or even now? That the person they are on the outside is older than the person on the inside? Hmm.
The good news is our class, as a whole, seems to be doing well. In fact, I think we look darn good.
Some folks have had some medical issues, and a few have had some hard knocks, but mostly, we're doing well and trying our best to shake the good stuff out of life. I talked with a classmate who spent eight months in a coma and two years in the hospital after a motorcycle wreck. He should be dead, but he's doing well, and I walked away feeling blessed to have had that conversation with him.
I did NOT feel blessed after spending all morning at the courthouse today in jury selection. It took four hours to pick a jury for a four day civil trial against two local doctors, and three of those hours were consumed by asking potential jurors about their biases, their relationship with the parties involved and their medical knowledge. I didn't make the final cut, but I had to sit through it all until they had their panel, and I wanted to bang my head on the bench in front of me about half way through it all. The attorneys were SO repetitive. And the people who are obviously trying to worm or cry their way out of jury duty by pretending to be biased one way or the other or feigning some kind of hardship drove me out of my ever lovin' mind. Jury duty isn't my favorite thing to do, but it's a necessary part of being an American citizen, so I do my civic duty. However, it sure was boring today, and now I'm waaaaay behind at work. I am finished with jury duty for the month, and it will be two more years before they can draw my name again. That means the next time they call me, I will have passed a big birthday. Um, 43. I have found that time marches slower if you just lie about your age.
PS...A big shout out to Madd Maxx who is fueling up his generator and stocking the pantry this evening. Isaac's comin' your way, Maxx. Hang on!