Saturday, July 26, 2008

on waking up

The sound of cars passing by on Rte 12, with the front porch and a couple yards of lawn between the road and my bedroom window, is more gentle than an alarm clock, even adding on the doot-doot-doot backing-up sounds the construction trucks make just on the other side of the house.

I hear these sounds and even before I open my eyes I can guess what time it is. If I'm still half asleep I can guess what day of the week it is, too, by the absense or presense of the construction truck doot doot doot. If the cars are passing three or four or more in a row on either side of the two-lane roadway, then I know it's probably 7:30 or 8am, and the morning commute is commencing in earnest. 

Meanwhile, I'm deciding whether the dream I just had is worth remembering and writing down. Sometimes I have to write it down quickly before the whole thing fades. Other times they are so vivid I can remember them through the day and can still recall them before I go to sleep that night. Either way I have to decide, and once I do then I have to either write the thing down or get up and go about my day. No in-between there.

Occasionally I'll get a nice surprise, dreamwise. Recently I had a dream that someone I knew, only a little in college and not at all now, kissed me. I don't know why he kissed me. I don't know what was going on before that kiss, or afterwards. But those moments of intimacy, and it's palpable tenderness, linger on. 

So the gentle surf-like sound of cars passing on the road is a better backdrop for remembering such moments than the sudden sound of just about anything a foot away from my ear, as you may be able to imagine. No alarm clocks here.


Saturday, July 12, 2008

25th high school reunion coming up

Above is my yearbook picture, circa 1983 (actually, it was taken in the summer of '82...but who am I to quibble?).

And this one's from (I think) winter 1983, mid-way through my senior year.

I've been getting notices regarding my high school reunion. It's pretty unreal that it's been 25 years since I graduated from high school. Equally unreal that it's been 21 years since I graduated from college, but that's probably for another post. 

I didn't like high school, although it was an improvement over middle school. I didn't have many friends among the kids I spent most of the school day with. I was one of the few people in the school who came from someplace else, and one of the few people who immediately left to start a new life as soon as I graduated. People didn't know what to make of me - for which I can't blame them - as I didn't know what to make of me either. I'm still working on that one, actually.

I went to my 10th year reunion. Um, it was interesting, but not something I want to repeat. I will not be going to my 25th, although the pictures I saw posted on the web site for the 20th reunion made me feel tenderly towards those who did attend. They looked so vulnerable. Much more so than I ever saw evidence of in high school. Seeing those pictures made me think there might still, yet, be some friends to make there. But I don't think I'm gonna go.

I posted the two pictures above, plus the two b&w photos here on the home page of the blog, on the "classmates" web site. Very few people from the class of 1983 are posting photos, or information about their lives, or anything else. It could be because the sight only offers these options for a fee. The site managers are hoping I'll forget before the end of the week that I've got a 7 day free trial, but forget it y'all, I've got a reminder right here on my calendar. Classmates dot com is not getting any money from me, no sir.

One thing I'm kind of pleased to realize - I was a lot cuter than I knew at the time. I mean, I was cute (actually, I'm still cute) but didn't really see it.

I'm so grateful for photography, especially family photos. I was talking with my dad last night about the family photographs my grandmother has. She is a meticulous housekeeper and the photographs are in very good shape, although a lot of them from my late grandfather's side of the family are undocumented. But I don't care about that. I started to tell my dad how much I value these photographs and he interrupted to tell me I could have them (when the time came). I was surprised he understood what I meant so well, and cut right through whatever else I was going to say. Anyway, my grandma is very excitable and the last thing I would want is to mention the photographs and her passing on in the same sentence, so I have to give my dad a lot of credit for saving us all from that. So - thanks, Dad.

Here's his high school graduation photo, circa 1960.