I lived
through my husband’s 20th college reunion! Woot! Actually,
I had a really good time. I was under no pressure to mingle, make conversation,
be smart or witty or successful. I was just “the wife.” As long as I looked
younger and thinner than his ex-girlfriends I was fine. The weather in
Williamsburg was gorgeous…sunny and balmy– not at all like the rain that was
predicted, so being outside with the kids was a joy. Sitting on the grass,
drinking a cape cod, listening to the alumni band play REM covers, and watching
the kids run around in circles. I was,
for the first time in weeks, stress free.
Saturday night
there was an alumni gala at the W&M conference center for all returning
graduates. The average age was about 50 or so, and the featured music was an appropriate
Motown revue. That being said, the band
that played during their intermission, for 8 brief songs, was the band that
stole the show. The Velveteens were a W&M college band and they all
graduated around ’99. To say “college band” does them a grave disservice
because they were – and still are – awesome. I wrote about them once. Go here
to listen to skalicious-ness. On
Saturday night I dressed to impress and wound up kick dancing myself into a cashmere-coated
sweat with about five other fans/friends/class of ’99 graduates while men and gray-haired
women in Chico’s formal stood around us and watched in amusement. Cashmere has
really poor wicking properties, fyi. And
yes, lead singer Wilson, the sustainable/renewable energies consultant and
failed jeopardy contestant, could still work a crowd. A few pounds heavier,
sure, but the powder blue plaid polyester suit fit and the guys slid on their
knees across the dance floor while playing their trombones just like they did ten years ago. Except probably,
with a bit more Advil the next morning.
After going
nuts on the dance floor I sat down at a mostly empty table. An older woman leaned over and said, “Are you
one of us?” I asked, “”I’m sorry?” “Are you class of ’74? This is a Class of ‘74
table.” And yes, it was then that I
noticed the silver Mylar “74” balloons anchored to the table with green and
yellow sand bags. “Oh, sorry” I joked, “Guess I didn’t see those huge numbered balloons.” I picked up my drink and left but in my head?
I said, “Bitch, PLEASE! Do I look like I’m class of ’74? Honey I was BORN in ’74.”
That’s ok. They were old and needed to sit.
Not me, even after jumping up and down and air-punching for 28 straight
minutes
In other
news, a woman I worked for, a woman with serious substance abuse issues and a
medley of mental health disorders, died at 44 of cancer. I am shocked, and
saddened. You wish things on people who make your life miserable but in the
end, not really. She was an unhappy person for most of her life and I hope that
she has found some sort of peace.
Lots of
other news, like the construction , my mother’s new hip, good visits from old
friends, but now I am racing to clock. I
will try and post more often.