On Honeysuckle

FAVORITE SMELLS?
Freshly cut grass, coffee brewing, bacon frying, honeysuckle

I recently received, answered and forwarded a survey via email. One of those cheesy getting to know you things that you ignore at will and complete in a state of utter boredom. My friend, Steven, gave the above answer to the favorite smells statement. My own favorite smell was something about breast fed baby smell – it’s a nice smell – a bit unispiring. But Steven mentioned honeysuckle – to which I felt that I must respond.

I have just returned from trick or treating with my children. And was checking my email when I saw Steven’s answer, and I was immediately transported to summer. Imagine if you will (and if you’ve lived in the country, you can with no difficulty), a sultry summer night – mid to late June, driving in the country late at night with the windows down. The air temperature shifting from sticky warm at the top of each hill and cooling as you move down into the hollows where the steam turns almost instantly to dew on your flesh. Get there, and just inhale the sweet smell of freshly mown hay laying in the fields, the slightest hint of sweetness as you pass a patch of honeysuckle on the side of the road. The sound of the whippoorwill or the bobwhite calling out from the brush begging you to let out the day, breath in the night and look up at the night sky. To take the time to absorb and celebrate the greatness of the world in which you live.

Or perhaps, it’s not driving down the road, but in Grandma’s yard just at dusk. Your chilren, your cousins, you – running around the yard trying to catch fireflies to turn into captive night time lighting. Laughter, sporadically emerging from behind trees, bushes, and in the tall grass while you’re playing hide and go seek. The faintest scent of the grill – someone’s having steak – you’re having hotdogs and marshmallows roasted over the fire later – only slightly burnt.

What a lot of images to come from honeysuckle – the quintessential scent of summer. Honeysuckle is the innocent childhood evening romp, the carefree teenaged night time adventure, and the reminiscent adulthood quiet joy of life. What a wonderful thing is honeysuckle.

Paper Money Society

I’m sure all of you have seen the debit card or visa check card commercials where everyone is happily parading about purchasing and dancing and purchasing and dancing. But then, one poor sod comes up with cash and the world stops, the cashier looks at the guy as if he has the plague and everyone else rolls their eyes at the stupidity of that man / woman. A cute, relatively innocent scenario – you’d think. But there is dark underbelly to purchasing in this country (or rather in Bowling Green and Nashville) and it’s paying with change.

Because we are not rich people, the boys and I actively save for vacation / recreation by collecting change and putting it in the piggy bank. Sometimes we add a few bills, but mostly it’s change. And when it’s time to go on vacation, we roll the change and that’s our free spending money. Usually, I take the money to the bank and exchange it for cash. But this weekend – as we began our expedition to see the live dinosaurs in Nashville, I didn’t have time to get it to the bank – so I had roughly $30 in change (the equivalent of 50 lbs). Our first stop was Russellville for gasoline. So I sent Jose in with the change and $20. The gas station refused to accept the rolled coins as payment. I couldn’t believe it. Although secretly, when Jose came back and told me, I thought that perhaps it was a prejudicial thing.

That evening, we stopped by a drive through at McDonald’s. And I again tried to pay with change (a roll of dimes – the last I checked it still equaled five dollars). The little man walked away, came back and said, I’m sorry it’s only $3.50 in change – it’s short. Thus effectively accusing me of lying and trying to steal. I calmly looked at him and said it is in no way short, it was $5 and then proceeded to count out the fifty dimes one by one to pay for my meal. The entire time ( as I was quietly fuming) he was huffing behind is little glass.

Now, upon introspection, I realize that I have my own prejudices about people who pay with vast amounts of change. I always think that people who pay with change instead of cash (if they are older than 10) are poor. To be fair, I know that I’m poor and am often counting my pennies and nickels to save up for one thing or another. I feel wealthier when I can pay with cash, and like to pretend that my debit card is an actual credit card (which I don’t allow myself to have because I abuse them – which is a vicious hole that I can’t get out of and don’t want to revisit). And as I’m rolling my coins, I am often tempted to just put in 38 or 39 quarters. But really, to short someone 15 out of 40 dimes. Does the fat woman in the mini van with an old woman and 3 children look like the one who’s going to be running a scam for $1.50?

So, the trip is over. I still have about $15 in rolled change, which I’ll save for Chuck E. Cheese instead I guess.

Perspectives on the Rites of Passage

About 3 years ago, my nephew Lanny purchased about $200 in pay per view porn from DirectTv. When I heard about it, I laughed out loud. Not at the money spent, but at the stupidity of it—thinking that he was not going to get caught. This week in my house, we had a similar incident. Apparently Franklin, my step-son, had been using his cell phone to access naked girlie pictures (only about 7 hours and 24 minutes worth of browsing). And if you know me, you will know that I do not have a cell phone plan in which we have free internet browsing included – so there was a $60 charge (split over two months). And of course, his phone kept a list of the his internet searches: hot girls, hot naked girls, video porn.

Ironically, Jose’s first response closely mirrored my own. Essentially, it was why is he looking on his phone, he can get a magazine (jose) or he could use the internet for free (mine). And for goodness sake, who in their right mind wants to peruse porn on a screen that is 1.5 x 2 inches in length – really. My only thought was that perhaps he wanted some privacy when he was looking (to which Jose in our chat suggested that maybe he use one of the magazines that comes here) – I was impressed that he had 7 hours worth of stamina – though is suppose it could have been 700 one minute sessions – though ultimately, I’m don’t really want to think about it.

Now, as we all know our first instinct, when confronted with our own wrong doing is to lie. Or perhaps you’re a really good person, but my first instinct is to lie. And Franklin was no different. Last month, when the first $30 appeared, I asked Franklin, and he said that he accidentally accessed the internet. I told him not to do it again and he agreed. When the second $30 appeared on this month bill (their billing cycle actually splits months with the land line – long story) – I was more than a little irritated. That parental irritation was quickly replaced by big sister glee that someone was getting in trouble – and I caught him. That glee is probably one of the reasons I became a teacher – a way to be in charge – ha ha ha I’m in charge and you can’t stop me – na na na boo boo. Anyway. I told Jose – who was not only irritated with Franklin but also mad because I didn’t mention the incident to him last month. So we had our little chat. Franklin lost the phone for a month, and has to perform slave labor until Jose feels he’s worked $60 worth – which is going to be punishment enough because Jose operates on Latin American pay scale so Franklin will probably be working for a very long time.

And then a miracle happened. Jose came to me and uttered the following phrase. “One good thing is that now Franklin is a man!” My husband finally took a step back and found the silver lining. I was awfully excited that such a feat could even occur. Franklin is a bit reserved. I don’t think I would say shy. But Jose was beginning to worry that he may be hitting for the other team – though my gay-dar didn’t go off (it is rusty – but not that rusty I don’t think). So, Franklin is a heterosexual teenage male who will be performing slave labor for quite some time – woo hoo!!!

Unfinished Business

O.K. I promise that eventually I'll let go of this reunion thing. But it seems that after angonizing about it for weeks and weeks, I'm doomed to think about it for a few days at least. I think that ultimately, there wasn't enough time to have the conversations that I wanted to have. I got to spend quite a bit of time with David Thomas. We had several enjoyable chats - or one long one -it doesn't really matter how that goes. But I enjoyed talking to him and felt that all that needed to be said, was said -- including acknowledgement of the night of chess tension that had me bookin' it out the door quicker than snot on a cold day. I wish that I could have had a nice sit down with Steven - and that didn't happen. And me being me - I wrote him a letter because I didn't get to talk - and then second guessed the letter - and am now trying to let it all go one way or the other. And Jim Jim had called and I wanted to talk to him more, couldn't because of the other conversations going on in the room and the phone being yanked from my hand. So I called and left a message - but he hasn't returned my call. And here I am again - back in my area of ineptitude - Trying to avoid my stalking behavior (no matter that it was successful with Jose - I still deeply feel that had he been aware of stalking legislation we most likely would not be married and I'd be someone's bitch in the big house - I can only hope that she'd have been cute). I wish I had one extra day and I would have talked to Andrea, Christina, Shannon, Karina, Janet and Becky a bit more - or gone to lunch somewhere and laughed and hee hawed over chinese buffet - or whatever was handy.

Does anyone else ever feel that way. Like you were having a great moment and then boom it was over and you weren't ready for it to be finished yet? And you want to somehow go back and grab a hold of it - let it last a little while longer. I think that's where I am - really. Just wanting for the night to not have ended - to say everything that I wanted and hear / learn new things. And it's gone - that moment - it's passed -- and the controlling, stubborn part of me wants to be stubborn and control it. And the rational - trying to be a grown up - part of me is trying to let it be and see where the cards fall. Which is so totally against my natural inclination it isn't funny.

If you want to know what is going to happen - I can make a prediction. Oh, I'll call and then I'll feel foolish and stupid - because like a true cancer (and you can check this out) we are pedastle people - you are wonderful, and perfect, and ideal, and can do no wrong -- we must worship you - hero worship and containers are our speciality - and then when humanity emerges it destroys the image and our hopes and dreams - it's a lot of pressure for someone really - though I suppose the upside is that we don't tell you that we are doing it - so you don't know when you have fallen off the pedastle upon which we've placed you.

It is my hope that by writing this down - that perhaps I've be able to overcome the demons / desires and have the patience to wait and see - but there's really no telling is there. Keep your fingers crossed for me.

On Vacations:

I’m sure you’ve all either heard or said “you need a vacation when you come back from your vacation.” It doesn’t matter if you’re out of town for a month, a week, or just a few days; by the time you return, you need at least 48 hours in which to recover.

This past week, I spent 3 days in Cadiz. Thursday afternoon, Friday, Saturday, and returned home early Sunday morning. I didn’t do too much any of those days – I did stay out late two nights – but really, the days were lazily spent to say the least. By the time I returned home Sunday I was exhausted. Two late nights, and primary supervision of 2 children under the age of 7 can really wear you out. So most of Sunday, I spent sleeping. Almost all of Sunday, I spent in my pajamas in bed. And just to make sure that I didn’t wake up too early, Sunday night, I capped off the day with a benedryl – hard drugs in my old age. And when I startled myself awake (I had forgotten to set my alarm but my internal clock awakened me at 5:45 a.m), I was no more prepared to get up and function as I was the day before. I seriously contemplated calling in sick.

It seems to me to be an odd phenomena, really. The recovery time needed for the break that you take from your every day life. Travelling is just a tiring experience, unless you are going somewhere. When you’re going to Florida, you can get up and on the road at 3:00 a.m., drive for 12 hours and be ready to have a party when you arrive. But when you’re coming home . . . you struggle to get into your car by check out time at 10:00, stop every 2 hours to pee, get something to drink, stretch your legs, let your heathen children run free so that you don’t intentionally wreck the car and put yourself out of their misery. And when you come back, you feel like what I would imagine I would feel like after running a marathon – o.k. 2 miles – who are we kidding, I’d never be able to run a marathon as I’d most likely stroke out around 2 ½ miles – and again – belly fat flapping in the breeze is one of the most annoying sounds in the world – and no one wants to run holding their stomach with both hands to prevent it. You get the drift.

The only really good thing about getting back from vacation is that your children, when they return, are oh so happy to back among the familiar. They like having their toys, games, rooms around them. And they can be counted on to play for at least 6 hours without bickering. My husband squanders that time with unpacking, starting laundry, cleaning up. It’s sad that he wastes the time that way. I, prepared person that I am, have already separated dirty laundry from clean (I will wash clothes when I’m at my families so that I don’t have to wash it when I get home – I don’t like the downstairs laundry room). So I dump the dirty laundry, change into my pajamas, and hop into bed with the clicker – find an episode of CSI or some such, and immediately fall asleep. And though it has taken some 9 years and numerous arguments -- and if I’m honest – hissy fits – my family is now adhering to the rule that if someone is asleep, we don’t wake them unless it’s time for work or an emergency. I only trained them in the rule so that eventually I could sleep uninterrupted. It’s finally paid off. Though, I had to add the emergency / work clause because Elijah woke up Isaiah the other day (Isaiah had fallen asleep early around 6:00 p.m. but would have slept the night if he wasn’t awakened) – and when I got mad at him, he told me that I woke him every day and he didn’t want to be awakened at all, and that wasn’t fair. Which was a good point, and thus the clause.

So anyway, for all intents and purposes, I made it through the day, was only slightly tired, and not really grumpy at all. I was, however, so glad that I taught resource room and didn’t have to have to come up with really fancy lesson plans with the intent of keeping 20 kids on task. But the vacation recovery does make you come into work on your first day back and immediately count the days until your next day off. Mine comes in 16 days (12 if you don’t count weekends).

Regrets and Influences

In my last post, I discussed the question "what was the thing that you most wished that you could have changed about your high school expierence?" and "What high school experience has had the longest lasting effect on your life there after?"

I spent a while this weekend pondering this question for myself. I prefer to live my life in such a way that I am satisfied with each day and wouldn't change a thing. To be fair, I wasn't quite at such a level of development at the ages of 14 - 17 when I was in high school. So, I have allowed myself to think of one thing that I would have changed. Ironically, it is the one thing that I couldn't change without totally altering my entire life.

I have decdided that the one thing that I would have changed in my life is that I wouldn't have waited for an invitation; or rather, shouldn't have. If you have ever watched the nature chanel shows about meerkeets, you may know that they are very much tribal animals. There is a leader a hierarchy. And new arrivals have to court and woo in order to be included. They can not, if they wish to survive, merely sit along the fringe of the group and wait for someone to come over and say - hey do you want something to eat, somewhere to sleep, pick a do you want. And at this moment, putting it into that perspective, I realize that I never could have done it. Then and now, I have never had the energy or desire to actively seek the approval of someone else (if you exclude my tendencies to stalk boys that I have hopeless crushes on -- which is a whole other blog). And at 38, I know that about myself. And perhaps at 17, I knew that as well because I never actively pursued inclusion into the group. Although, I must also admit - actively seeking entrance is also actively seeking rejection - and who really wants to go there? God knows there is little worse than giving your best effort and being shot down. It's really not unlike those at-risk kids in the classroom who no longer make an effort to learn or participate because every effort to do so has met with rejection and failure. Much better, much easier, much safer to just say forget it, I don't care. And 20 years later, I was no different. Those same girls who I thought were the models of humanity might have shared a platitude or two but for the most part, I kept to my corner. And ultimately I'm so glad that I did, because I was able to share wonderful conversation with my friend David, tidbits with Steven, and thoroughly enjoy the wit and humor of Becky and Janet. And all the while I felt these tuggings in my mind - I know that I had spoken to them before in high school. I remember liking them. And I can't for the life of me, now, understand why I didn't be who I was and hang with them - because I'm pretty sure that I have much more in common with them than I would ever have had with the rest. But I also know that I have spent much of my life with rigid boxes - compartmentalizing people in my life. I didn't have many classes with Janet or Becky or Christina -- and school was the extent of my social life - so if I didn't see you at school, well I didn't see you. And that was definitely a missed opportunity because I don't know if you've been privy to a conversation between Janet and Becky - but it's very very funny.

The answer to the second question is the same as the first. I had to have all those issues - those feelings of not being included or not fitting in to be able to evolve into who I am today - it's all wings of a butterfly causing hurricanes in Japan sort of stuff. My high school experience left me wide open for experiences during Junior Scholars and my freshman year at college. That summer that I was in Junior Scholars was the first time that I honestly realized that people could / would / wanted to like me. I try not to think about the fact that perhaps some of those people were also nerdy unliked at their school - so I won't. I prefer to think of them as creme de la creme of their school. But it didn't matter, really, because people my age thought i was interesting, funny and worthwhile. And that made a difference. And I spent much time thereafter trying to be the best person that I could be - and letting go of what other people thought of me. Those were the first steps on the journey toward I am who I am, and I like that.
I spent a lot of time thinking about who that person was this weekend. Who am I - what are my goals / aspirations, what are my beliefs, who do I want to be today and tomorrow.

I learned this weekend that I have not yet conquered the tendency to make sexual oriented comments when i'm nervous or uncomfortable. I talked about penises more this weekend than I have in 18 years -- The comments just kept coming out of my mouth and there was nothing that I can do.

I accepted this weekend that my idea of a good time at a party is sit with one or two people and chat and watch everyone else as they mingle in. And there is little that is more entertaining to watch than people who haven't seen each other in 20 years. I don't think that many people understand my enjoyment in that - and that's o.k. to each his own - and that's mine.

I realized that grown up parties are better than high school parties because when you know that no one is going to get drunk and make out - on the couch next to you, well you can relax and not worry about the uncomfortable everyone has a partner but me feeling that is one of the worst ever.

I learned that for the most part, I am still not a girlie girl. There are some girls / women that I enjoy talking to - and as I get older that number is increasing. But girlie girls and me - never the twain shall meet - really. I just don't get them.

I discovered this weekend that I apparently postively influenced several people's mathematical abilities. It's wierd that I don't remember that, except for Kris McGill. I remember helping her study all the time our senior year (advanced math). But Judy Lancaster said she remembered me helping her in math - and I didn't remember that - but was flattered that she remembered. Tommy Cassidy just remembered cutting up in class with me -- Apparently I was just a hit in math class -- it's wierd how selective memory can be.

and since i've adequately moved off topic entirely - I shall end here.

High School Reunions

There are several things that I know that I want to talk about here - and I can't decide if I want to do it all at once or make several - so we'll just begin and see what happens.

I decided to attend my 20 year high school reunion at Trigg County. And it was an eye opening experience in many different levels. I suppose there were really 2 that mattered most to me.
The first was that Steven Sanders, upon seeing my arrival, took the time out to tell me that he was the person that he most wished would attend. I was totally and utterly shocked and overwhelmingly flattered. About 15 years ago, Steven, Jim and I had all returned to Cadiz with a bit of a hang-dog, tail between our legs oh my god what are we going to do with our lives sort of mentality. And somehow the fates transpired that the three of us ended up at Steven's house having one of those magical coffee house moments. Those moments when you meet someone new and explore the secrets of the universe on every level that you can imagine. I remember the conversation - and believe that I asked Jim and Steven then the same questions that I asked this weekend (fondest memory, the thing you would change about your high school experience, what aspect of your high school experience most influenced your life after) and from what I remember (though memories fade and alter through time) his answers remained much the same - and aren't really mine to disclose. I can share with you my own - My fondest memory is being back stage during Wizard of Oz - with Lean on Me music blaring in the library - it was perhaps one, if not the only, moment in high school that I felt at the time that I needed to remember forever - and I have. The other answers will be another blog - Anyway, I was so grateful and relieved that Steven (anyone) was there to say they were happy to see me. That meant a lot.

The second moment occurred not to long after and lays at the feet at Andrea Caylor, Christina Baker and Janet Harper. They made a point to tell me that they had read part of my blog and couldn't believe that I had felt that I didn't fit in when I was in so many clubs. And I had to take a step back from my self perception -- because for the past 20 years, my high school perception had been as self centered and black / white as i thought life was in high school. I spent my entire school career really moving on the fringes but not jumping in. I was in clubs and organizations for two reason: I enjoyed them, and I was building a college admissions resume. I started with Speech and Drama really was a natural step from there - standing and performing is standing and performing. And really, the people in those clubs were always a little nerdy / odd and I had things in common with them. It quite simply took me aback that in someone else's reality, I was part of a crowd or somebody. And such a realization is somewhat bitter sweet. What changes in my life would have occurred if I had known that 23 years ago? But it's also water under the bridge because I wouldn't change the past and sacrifice my present for anything in the world.

But to those people - (Shannon Simmons and Karina Phillips who echoed the sentiments at the runion the next day) - I thank you for the life lesson that you shared with me. There is little doubt in my mind that it was because of you and that comment that I was supposed to be there - that was the lesson that I needed to learn and the words that I needed to hear. I had thought that perhaps the reason that I was going was that this was a final chance - the last chance, the next chance - to fit in - to be the person that I wanted to be - or rather to be the person openly fawned over and adored by all and sundry. Which is an insane wish in and of itself - because I am not that person. I don't like to be the center of attention - I don't like to socialize or flit from place to place - of fill my schedule / calendar with a never ending list of gatherings. I'd much rather have a few good friends come over, have a nice meal, and sit and talk and laugh and create memories and links. So, any or each of you, please feel free to stop by - we'll chat.

And to Steven, thank you again for giving me the courage and the inspiration to attend both evenings. I had a really good time (in my sit in a corner and watch the world), learned so much.

38 going on 17

Thursday afternoon, as I was driving through the placid landscape of Western Kentucky heading for Cadiz - presumably to attend part of my school reunion with Ham Festival as a fall back plan - I was overwhelmed by anxiety. I mean, really wanted to cry anxiety. All I could think of was that I was going to a party with people from high school and what if they didn't like me - still, after all these years. That's not to say that I was unpopular, but rather to say that I was non-existance - in my mind anyway.

In the midst of my anxiety I called my friend Terri. I would have called Jose - but any man who responds to the news that your father has had a stroke with "well at least he didn't die." Isn't a person who is really great at comforting the anxious soul (but we're working on it).

It was so strange to feel such anxiety and insecurity wash over me again. I hadn't felt such since I was in my twenties - when i finally learned to let go of any perception of myself but my own. and to know that all this stuff had laid hidden down in the deepest recesses of my mind. Who was going to be there, what would I say, why was I going? over and over again the mantra repeated itself in my head - i don't want to go, I have to go, i don't want to go, i have to go. such drama - i swear. But in the car, I was no longer professional, capable, married mother of 2 - I was Amy Walker - you know Jason's sister, Jodi's sister, Wayn'e daughter. Amy Walker, smart girl - wierd girl - I think she's the one who's in all the plays at school. Amy Walker girl that I thought I had dealt with, conquered and retrained - but she was still there - and she for sure didn't have it all together by any stretch of the imagination. And me say, that I wasn't too happy to have her resurface.

Let me simply say that I am more than happy that I am no longer that young and dealing with that crap - because life it too short, time too precious to worry about - well much of anything - what is ... is. And what you can't change or fix, then let it go -

On Old Friends

There is something almost magical about getting together with an old friend. Not the friend that you speak to every day, but the one who has touched base with your life for several years. The old friends that I have are akin to brothers and sisters. I see them almost as often as I see my own brothers and sisters, and I have much the same level of affection. For me, good friends are family (though for some reason step children – not my own--don’t really count – don’t ask me why) –

Anyway, this entry, not unlike several of the past, is inspired by my 20 year high school reunion. You know, it really is quite amazing how the past clings to you in all sorts of weird ways. Anyway, the upside of the reunion is that I’ve been able to get back in touch with the person that I call my only friend from high school – David Thomas. David sat in front of me for three years of Mrs. Robert’s math classes (geometry, algebra 2, advanced math). And the last year we spent much of that time playing connect four on the chalk board – and were good enough in class that Mrs. Roberts just let us keep the board up so we didn’t have to redraw and asked that we at least be quiet so that we didn’t disturb the rest of the class. I went over to his house once and played chess. During our freshman year of college, David was the only person who wrote to me (once on popcicle sticks – that I remember – I wrote once on a balloon) and I remember vaguely that his roommate was someone named Trent – Ricks I think – and he would do weird things like put his penis on someone’s table while they were trying to do homework – that may be urban legend but from what I even more vaguely remember about Trent, it could have happened. A few years after that, David showed up at Kinko’s. We had lunch at subway and I went over to his apartment – that he shared with Jason Majors and his girlfriend. I had some of that cough syrup tasting booze – bleck – that was about 10 years ago. And he’d just attended the 10 year reunion. I didn’t go – I was working at Kinko’s with nothing to show. I was still in college, working at Kinkos. His response was that at least I was married (and to be fair, for me, that was a pretty big accomplishment – not to be self-depreciating – but really – I’m nothing to look at, opinionated, and controlling (in a side stepping manipulative type of way that works well for me and leaves most others unsuspecting). He was working at radio shack and attending Hillvue Heights church – we discussed tithing – I was a bit amazed that he was so devout – but it may have been during a newly baptized phase of his life – I however have lived much of my life in contact with someone who is stuck in the newly baptized phase of religion and am not so easily swayed (do you think that if my father had known that his faith would have stymied my own, he’d have practiced reverse psychology?).

Anyway, enough about the life and times of David Thomas. You, hopefully, get the point. There is history there. I know that when he was in the 5th grade he told people that he read the encyclopedia for enjoyment (though later claimed that he was lying – I still prefer to believe him). I know that when he was in middle school and lived in the big brick house on my bus route he almost drowned in his in ground pool and was saved by his aunt (and remember mostly thinking how lucky he was to have an in ground pool). I know that he also liked the A-Team in middle school and I know this because we would all sit in the back 2 rows on the bus (Bubba Grant, Brent, David and I) and we’d sing/ hum the theme song and talk about last night’s episode. He would also pretend to talk when the bus went over the gravel road (to pick up Eric Vickory – who was odd then and the last time I saw him) – and when the bus stopped turn his voice on as if it were on the whole time. I know that in high school he and his friends were into dungeons and dragons and came up with a fake bomb and that is why Trigg County had it’s first bomb threat notation in the student handbook.

Anyway, though I didn’t intend for this entry to the ode to David Thomas, you get the point. There is a history there. Something that doesn’t have to be explained. Stories that we don’t visit that often but laugh about when we do. My friends Terri and Sandy are the same. I see them once a year, maybe twice. They are on my mailing lists for videos and school sales. I will call and chat occasionally – I don’t have to see them every day or talk to them every day but they are there a part of my family. I know that if I were having surgery and frightened out of my mind I could call them and they would come. I hadn’t spoken to them for almost 10 years and found them during one of my nostalgic summer searches and not 3 months later they were throwing me a baby shower with people they didn’t even know.

There is a magic in having those kinds of friends. In part because every moment you spend with them is full of love and laughter. When you don’t see anyone that often, then every moment is special and a memory. You aren’t there long enough to get hurt, angry, upset, bored, disgusted. It is why some long distance relationships work so well (though with friendships there’s no assumption of faithfulness – really it’s ok for them to have other friends, I don’t mind – and that helps too). The other part of the magic is that you remember these friends better than they actually are – in my mind they are always perfect. To some degree they are almost like imaginary friends. This blog is a part of that. It is my imaginary conversation with my friends that I don’t get to see that often – and what lovely conversations they often are. I hear Terri’s voice – always saying, “well, you know Aim…” and either agreeing or disagreeing (which would mean we’re talking about politics).

They don’t really make commercials about these types of friendships. Or rather, I’ve never seen one. It seems the ideal is the sex in the city friendships where the girls get together every week and talk about life and what not – or go shopping together, or to movies, or out, or whatever. And there is this part of me that feels like that because I don’t have that type of friendship then somehow I’ve failed as a person. I mean, I still classify my relationships into family and friends (those friends who should be family) and people at work that I like (but don’t want to hang out with – makes work messy), parents of elijah’s friends that I like and can have a decent play date with, people I don’t care about, and people that I wish would have bad things happen to (this is a very small list and I try to forget them most of the time). Pretty much those are the groups. And when I have a social event – well I keep it divided about like that – though you should add a group for Jose’s family – so we have events in triplicate because I don’t mingle groups well. Sometimes, on very rare occasions, someone might move from one group to another. Jenny and Vicki moved from people I work with to people I consider family. Who knows . . . I’m a bit off track from the original topic here – that’s what happens when you start to ramble at the end of the day – but there it is. And it all brought on again by that damn high school reunion – that I’m just going to have to attend. Unlike prom my junior or senior year, I think I might actually regret not attending this – and I don’t believe in doing anything that I might regret. The worse that could happen is that no one talks to me – and well – been there done that – scratch that the worse thing is that Michele could show up drunk, embarrass me – someone will say isn’t that your sister? No? I always thought you were sisters? So your Jodi and Angie’s sister? Jodi and Jason’s. I though Jason and Angie were brother and sister. Well hmmm… at which point, I have keys, own a car, and won’t be too far from Dad’s house. I’ll let you know how it goes – and just so you know –I’m not dressing up – and not going to the formal dinner – who eats at 8:00 – people with maids and nanny’s I guess.