There was a picnic on Friday evening. I had planned to go, but could never make up my mind whether or not to take my guitar. As I often do when faced with such momentous dilemmas, I chose not to go.
According to reports, it was hot at the picnic — the temperature was over 95°. However, I might have been more comfortable at the picnic than I was at home: my AC conked out early Friday evening. The house was 99° when I went to bed.
I chose not to call the repairman until Monday, on the assumption that there would be an extra fee for a weekend service call.
Saturday morning, my lawn mower died. For the second time this month. I was beginning to sense a trend.
After I took the mower back to the shop, I spent most of Saturday at the mall. I even took in "Wedding Crashers" at the multiplex [BTW: just the sort of light-weight flick I was needing at the time.] Got back to the house at 3:30, and tried to take a nap on the couch, in front of the fan. The operative verb being "tried"
So, as you might imagine, I was not in a wonderful frame of mind once I arrived at the reunion a little past 6:30. Oh yeah: did I mention that I drove several blocks out of my way due to road construction?
I got in line, and immediately a couple of people recognized me. One said she remembered me from driver's ed, which I took in Summer School just prior to Freshman Year (in other words, Driver's Ed was the first class I took in high school).
One of the people who remembered me was Queenie. In addition to being one of the nicest girls I knew in high school, she was also the daughter of a local tv personality - Ho Ho the Clown. In fact, her given name wasn't "Queenie" - that was just the name her dad called her on his tv show. I think she was the youngest of his six children.
Someone else remembered me from elementary school. Jeez! I barely remember folk from high school, much less elementary.
It was interesting how people remembered me. One fellow was certain we had worked on the high school paper together, and had both studied journalism in college. Neither is true - I was an English major in college. Though you might say my primary major was mind altering substances (which might explain a lot).
I was pretty visible in high school - drama productions, talent shows, and so on. Plus, as my graduation shot shows, I let my hair grow as long as the dress code allowed. We were permitted colar-length hair, side burns of a certain length, mustache and goatee. If you look very closely, you might discern the wispy whiskers on my chin.
So, it makes a certain kind of sense that they'd be unclear as to where they remember me from. And, I might be excused for not remembering - or recognizing - them. Plus, God only knows how many memory cells got burned during my "mind altering substances" days.
Our graduating class had about 600 people; there were only around 170 at the reunion. It turned out the people who originally planned the reunions quit a few years ago, and the data base was lost or crashed.
I had hoped to see certain ladies I had crushes on in high school - Patti, Pam, Cindy. I thought maybe, just maybe, friendships could be renewed and a new relationship might develop.
Not that I'm on the prowl, necessarily, but I'm definitely open.
For good or ill, if any of those ladies were there, I didn't recognize them.
So I went back home around 9, to enjoy the discomforts of my 96° house.
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