Looking Ahead

I have tried--God knows, I've tried--to keep quiet about next year's election. Largely because, in the dark of night, when all my slithery, creepy, crawly thoughts have free rein, I am afraid that Donald Trump may win a second term. I cannot grasp how that could be; I never truly understood how he won the first one; but among all the things that go bump in the night, that thought is the bumpiest.

I am an admitted snob, a grammar freak, a vocabulary maven. I admire the well-spoken, and their well-turned phrases. I read, and fine writing scratches an itch that, I admit, other people may not have. I admire grace and elegance, though I lay claim to neither. I am a liberal. So shoot me. I believe that people should be treated equally, without regard to race, creed, gender, or national origin. I may not always live up to my own expectations, but I try. And I work hard to keep my own petty prejudices to myself (except where spelling and grammar are concerned, I guess...)

So, if you wonder why I am so opposed to a president who is the living antithesis of all I believe in and admire...well, you haven't been paying attention.

I am not political by nature, but when I see him turning the Constitution on its head, I find it hard to believe that he has mustered such widespread support--such a base 'base'--for the overthrow of what truly made America great, what made the US a beacon of hope for other countries, what made us a place to turn to for beleaguered populations elsewhere in the world. He has turned America's greatness upon itself, corrupting the idea of greatness, interpreting it as power, exerted in the interest of financial gain and position as a global bully. That is not the 'greatness' to which we have historically aspired. He would have us trade our moral greatness--our generosity, our all-encompassing welcome, our boundless opportunity-- for Esau's bowl of pottage: the poorest of all trades. How can anyone, raised amidst the ideals of our founding fathers, confuse 'greatness' with racism, intolerance, and the 'me first' culture that he encourages? I simply do not understand.

I am not certain of what the upcoming election will bring; there are too many candidates to focus upon, too many issues being raised, and far too much coverage of the minutiae of candidates' histories to decide or specifically recommend anyone at this juncture. I simply hope and pray (and this is sincere hope, and sincere prayer, unlike the meaningless 'thoughts and prayers' that no one acts upon) that our country will once again find itself, and will find someone we can rally behind to mend what this vicious interloper has broken, to restore the greatness with which this land was born, and with which we operated for two hundred years.

Valentine

I know
there should be a heart and an arrow
and a card and some candy--
flowers too, if that would help
convey what I feel.

I know
that most of the time, I am
cranky and impatient
and bossy and annoyed, and
let's not forget 'unreasonable'.

I know
that I am hard to love
at the best of times
and at the worst....well,
let's not go there.

And yet, I know
you have loved me,
made me laugh,
been by my side,
for all these years--

What else should a valentine be,
if not patient, if not kind,
if not faithful, and hopeful,
and enduring, and all the things
you are already?

You have always been the best of me,
my foundation, my comfort,
my home, my heart,
my Valentine.

Strange and Wonderful

I just got back from a reunion. Usually, these things are pretty much fun, but this one had me quaking in my boots beforehand. This was a reunion of my graduate school classmates: 45 years have passed since I had seen any of them. But, motivated by the infrequent "I wonder what ever happened to..." thought, I signed up. Another reason I decided to go was that somebody had had to do some digging to find me. While I got married just before I left school, I doubt that anyone remembered my married name. Also, I'd deserted my biochemical career shortly after I left, and had moved 12 times since my days in Charlottesville. If someone had found me after all that, there would surely be someone to talk to.

There were more than a few people I was looking for. A former lab mate, a couple guys I had dated, a guy who was brilliantly into computers and biophysics, a couple resident free spirits, people who had helped me through three years of grad school classes and research, and had become what I viewed as family. Somehow, we never kept up after leaving Charlottesville.

I can say now that the three years I spent with those folks were a pivotal point in my life. Literally. I arrived there in a straight line from my life in Baltimore: childhood, high school, college, home--and, in Charlottesville, took a sharp right (or maybe left) turn into independence: no rules, no responsibilities for (or to) anyone else unless I chose them, no one to depend on, except myself. I did a lot of stupid things, both personal and academic, but somehow survived, and grew up. I grew up. And these were the people who were the backdrop to all that. Adding to the general angst was the fact that I had left sans degree. I studied and worked for three years and then gave it up to marry and go to California, while everyone else (I presumed) stuck it out. Frightening to revisit a group that had witnessed that, who knew me when, and could judge me now. Not knowing what to expect in that regard, I packed and repacked (what will I wear? How will I look?), and worried and even considered backing out. I didn't.

So, this is what I found. Other people left, too (though usually for nobler reasons like med school or dental school). Some people hadn't changed a bit. We all still got along. It was interesting to hear what happened between then and now. Jobs, marriages, moves. Where faculty members were/ are. Who had died, who was still working, who had retired. Snippets of the past--old stories--interwoven with the present. How we all got from there to here, and some of the steps along the way.

No one told their complete stories--like how Howard moved from neurosciences to professional gambler, and how he came to marry a law professor along the way. Like what became of Dick's first wife (who we all knew and loved) and what she was doing now. And how Gil transitioned from eye proteins to being the liaison between business and research at Duke. How did Maureen end up in Texas practicing medicine--and where the hell was Michele, who had called several of us and urged us to come--then never appeared herself? And for me, how spooky it was to find that my former fiancé remembered a lot more than I expected, and had even come up with our California address, and knew much more about my life after Charlottesville than I did his.

Add to all of this that I was introducing JC to these people whom he may have met a time or two, mostly at our wedding (and who remembers who you've talked to when you're the bride or groom?) Bizarre, after 45 years of knowing pretty much everybody that either one of us knew, introducing a whole new cast of characters that even I was uncertain about, but had talked about over the years. And how many of my stories had morphed into at least partial fiction over the years, having been exaggerated, amplified, and modified along the way? I made JC promise not to relate any of those stories--just in case my version differed from other people's. Even I was not sure of the truth by now.

Everyone was older--some unrecognizably so--but there were many of the same smiles, the same postures, the same memories (well, nearly the same). There were lots of 'used to be's in our conversations, and a small and civilized debate about where we used to get 'grills with' (The White Spot, and if you have to ask what they are, you were at the wrong reunion.)  There was talk about reuniting in San Antonio for a look at the next major eclipse. Dick said his house was on the path and he had plenty of room. Don agreed to take care of notifications, so we can plan our own get-together in five years. Maybe we will, or maybe we won't. Who knows, when you are in your 70s or 80s, who will be able to make the trip? Whatever happens, we had this weekend, and we certainly had our own bit of history.