October 18, 2007

I just returned from my 30th high school reunion trip, and, by the way, my stepdad was home. His health and other circumstances prevented him from going on the car rally. I think I was sadder that he couldn’t go than when I thought I wouldn’t be seeing him. Ended up, we spent a couple days together – chatting, having lunch at the club on the beach, watching a movie together (The Lives of Others) and eating an amazing Thanksgiving (a few weeks early) meal that my mother made for us. My mom likes to say that while the disease is a curse its gift is that he is getting to know his kids. The admirable thing about him is his eternal patience with his body and others. At lunch we bump into a former neighbor: “I’m Hilda your old neighbor from down the street,” she shouts at him as though a wheel chair indicates he is deaf or experiencing dementia. Later we laugh about it. He has not lost his sense of humor! Sure, he feeds himself slowly and can’t walk easily, but his mind is active and clear. The love in his eyes is evident. He does not look away, but meets my gaze as he formulates his thoughts and expresses his experience. When we take time to listen to someone's rite of passage or altered experience, it opens the heart and helps us meet our own future challenges more gracefully.

I also had dinner with my little (15 years younger) brother. We ate sushi with saki and beer and discussed the trials and tribulations of life and love. He gives me good feedback and we have a similar take on life. I don’t think I will ever forget our dinner. The memory of every event during this particular weekend feels permanently etched on my heart.

The reunion was a delight too – all the dear friends. I spent the night with my best friend whom I had not seen in years. I’m sure we won’t let so much time go by again! I was hoping to chat with a man who intrigued me in high school and I was even luckier – he asked me to dance! It was a slow dance – I can’t even remember the song because I was so surprised. We danced like middle schoolers – not too close and looking around the room as though it might rain inside. Mind you, I’m single and he’s married (like a game of tag: I’m it, he’s out), so I’m not sure if he really officially asked me to dance, but we somehow ended up on the dance floor. I didn’t even have anything to drink, but for some reason all I remember is dancing with a small group of friends and suddenly being in his arms – at a distance of course. Who knows, maybe it was some magnetic impulse that drew us together. Hmmm... I can’t analyze this too much without Karma coming over and slapping me.

So, here is my poem in honor of the event.

High School Reunion

It is raining when the plane touches down in LA.
Droplets race across my view
in jagged fits and starts,
evaporating as the next set follows suit
like waves in a marathon.

Absentmindedly I feel the ridges across my forehead:
circles of a tree trunk, marking time –
skin that once was smooth as this page;
I am reassured that love is blind to laugh lines and age,
receding hairlines, and waists grown thick.

The heart grows fonder of they who knew me
during the worst of life, the best of life,
when hormones raged
and we threw our hearts out to one another like bait.
Yet, I hid behind a veneer,
sure that if I let down my guard
I’d be eaten alive (or risk failure)
and so I arrive late (to life),
to the reunion
with my heart on a platter,
as though seeing my friends for the first time –
at once pegged, yet forever changed:
scarred and worn as only time (and children) can do,
yet more precious and beautiful than ever.

I’d like to take the hand of every friend,
and splay their palms face up across mine,
to fingertip trace a line and read a guarantee
of eternal life (or at least until next time),
because my heart takes equal pleasure and comfort
in friends reappearing like summer sunflowers
or the blue moon
or a pair of rare Inca Doves
that alight in my pine
to sing when I least expect.