Listen, twenty-year-old: in the years since you were born, my friends Tasha and Pat did not age even one little bit. I think they have a couple of portraits tucked away in their respective attics. I'm not going to look into it too deeply.
I wandered some of the hallowed academic halls with Tasha, as we tried to remember where our Italian class was. It was not where we thought. Then I broke my hip! I walked it off.
Here's my friend Amy showing us her old photo album that contained all manner of light-rinse denim and permed hair. The perms were all mine, sadly.
My friend Irene (you'd remember her as my shower-obsessed friend) informed me on Saturday afternoon that we were going to sing. In a semi-circle. Because that's what we did in college (as the Wellesley Widows, dear lord) and that's what we were going to do now. Also, people would be watching. I attempted to protest, but you just can't argue with Irene. Maybe it's because of how good she smells.
We rehearsed for all of five minutes, like so:
People came (I bet Irene ordered them to! It's like she's MAGIC!):
Nothing will cause me to break out in hives more than the phrase "impromptu a cappella," but this was fun and not even a little bit humiliating.
I miss singing with people I love.
Below is Pamela Daniels, who was our class dean. She retired a while back, and when she did, I wrote her a letter to thank her for saving my life. Which she did. I had a challenging sophomore year, and she met me, every day, just to talk, for weeks. Maybe months. She wrote me back such an amazing letter that I almost wanted to send her a thank-you note to her thank-you note. She is an extraordinary human being, and I am so fortunate to know her.
I had no idea she would be at the reunion. Then she strode in, all stately and regal, and I walked up to her kind of tentatively and she looked at my name tag and said, "You wrote me that letter!" That was ELEVEN YEARS AGO, you guys. She gave me a huge hug and oh, I cried.
Scott took this picture (and all the others, by the way), and while he was futzing with the camera she whispered to me, "He's in the arts, I hope? Tell me he's in the arts," and I said yes, Dean Daniels (I can't call her Pamela), he's in the arts. Doesn't the beard give it away? No?
Here we are, walking through what was, when we were at school, a parking lot. Now it's wetlands? I was very confused.
You couldn't pay me to go back to 1991, but then again, maybe you could pay me to go back to 1991, maybe just for a little while. If I could bypass the fashion mistakes and just hang out with my friends.