You Can Run, But You Can't Hide, (Tales from the reunion committee)

A number of us gals from back in the day, decided to throw a full scale reunion. Now mind you, we graduated 43 years ago.  I wish I could say it was a hospital nursery reunion, but we are a wee bit older then that! In fact we all knew where we were when President Kennedy was shot, we were together, in our old classroom, watching the news unfold on the small black and white TV.

The first order of business was to find our old classmates.  We parted back in 1968, and except for a handful that we had maintained contact, the rest were scattered like leaves in the wind.

Quite the tall order, but we dug in, and began. Thankfully we had such modern tools, as the internet, Facebook, and Google searches.  However, the most important resource we had was that way back then; the large majority came from huge families.  It was rare to know of a family having two or less children. Most of our classmates came from homes that had an average of 5 or 6 kids.  Even bigger families were not that uncommon. We had the “sibling” connection! Many of our own brothers and sisters knew the brothers and sisters of the people we sought.  Slowly but surely the ripple effect began to spin outward. Everyday a new connection was discovered, and with each new person found, came more and more nuggets of information.

As we made contact, people would reminisce about the old days.  Back then our mothers, for the most part did not work outside the home.  They were too busy watching after a gaggle of children, sometimes having 5 or 6 before they turned 30. There was no second car; Dad took the only car to work.  Any after school activity that took place, had to be within walking or biking distance, or you were not participating! There was one phone in the house, and it was usually attached to the kitchen wall, within earshot of nosey family members.  Rest assured phone calls were short and sweet back then. When one arrived home from school, after running the whole way (we were the original joggers) the first order was to change out of your “school” clothes, and don your “play” clothes. If by chance you had received a reprimand in school that day, you would keep it to yourself, and pray that your teacher didn’t call.  Prevailing wisdom was that the teacher was always right. Good times!

Slowly but surely the list of MIA classmates were dwindling down. Someone suggested we check obituary records.  We realized that many parents of our friends may have passed away in recent years. We hoped to see a reference to a girls married name that would make her easier to find. The only problem with that, was knowing the parent’s first name.  The only names we had for our classmates parents was, Mr. and Mrs. We would never in a zillion years refer to someone’s mom or dad by their first name. Sadly besides finding some leads on married names, we also discovered a few of our old friends had died as well. Found, but not forgotten.

So far, most of our old, we mean former classmates, seem excited about the prospect of reconnecting with old pals. We are hoping to meet this fall, so commence the dieting and exercise, consider this your 8^th month warning! It should be a blast!

I am woman hear me roar.....in pain!

Back in the day, liberated women burned their bras, while tossing their girdles and corsets in the trash. I am woman, hear me roar. Yet, some items are sneaking their way back into our lives.  I am talking about that technologically advanced girdle, better known as Spanx! I listened as friends and family raved about the svelte shape it created, without the vise like horrors of it’s predecessor. Well I am here to tell you that they are all a big pack of liars.

I had an event to attend, and I needed a little, well maybe more than a little help in the svelte department. With dreams of this miracle lingerie playing in my head, I broke down and purchased a midriff to mid-thigh number.  I have to tell you, at first blush, this item of clothing was truly miraculous! I shimmied in to it, and slipped my cocktail dress on.  It was amazing! No lumps or bumps, just a smooth lean profile.  I made my way to the car, and departed for the big event. This is where the tale turns horrific. Things would have been wonderful, if I could have stood in front of my mirror all evening, and breathed shallowly. However since the fete was taking place somewhere other than my boudoir I was forced to travel.

About 10 minutes into the drive, my midriff staged a prison break. The Spanx tried valiantly to quell the disturbance, but was sadly outmanned. I was now the proud owner of an atomic muffin top. I thank God my dress did not have buttons at the waist, for the force would have blown them right through the windshield. I tried to man handle my recalcitrant mid section back into position, but I was thwarted in my efforts by Spanx blow back.  To those of you unfamiliar with this phenomenon, I will explain. When your Spanx is over taken by unruly midriff, it bites back. My waist area was now caught in a strangle hold of constricting spandex, and what I suspect was iron rebar rods. I was having trouble breathing, sitting, and talking.

Apparently word of the major breach reached my thighs.  They too decided to stage their own breakout, to show solidarity. Both Spanx thighs curled up, and played dead. I had just single handedly discovered muffin bottoms. Immediately the defeated lower ends of my Spanx started cutting off circulation to my legs.

Since I didn’t fancy going to this affair looking like the Michelin Man, never mind that I couldn’t walk or breathe, I decided to take action.  You haven’t lived till you wiggle out of a full torso Spanx, while seat belted in a car going 60 miles an hour. For those of you thinking “My God!” we thought texting while driving was dangerous, rest assured. I wasn’t driving.  My poor spouse had the pleasure of being my chauffeur that infamous evening. The things that poor man has seen over the years!

I attended the party that night, sans support wear, and had a wonderful time.  Much better than the two ladies I met in the powder room.  Apparently I wasn’t the only Spanx challenged guest that night.

Oh Say Can You See?

Along with the usual signs of aging; grey hair, wrinkles, memory loss, and the old middle age s-p-r-e-a-d, I must finally admit to another portent of age.  I am as blind as a bat. One of my loving offspring pointed out  that when I read dosage quantities on over the counter medications, I always head to the window, hold the container up to my nose, squint my eyes, and move the thing in and out to get proper focus. When did this happen? I always had 20/20 vision.  Even at my last eye exam (15 years ago), the Doctor remarked on how unusual it was to have such strong vision at my age. I guess I didn’t pick up on that qualifier “at your age.”

I first noticed some difficulty when my children were babies.  I would squint at the dosing instructions, and search for the proper markings on the dropper. I attributed this to the exhausting days of early motherhood, and the accompanying lack of sleep. I was wrong; they are just printing things smaller and smaller these days.  Even Street signs have shrunk in my humble opinion. I am usually the navigator on most road trips. I was always able to read signs quite easily. Nowadays my spouse and I have turned into those annoying drivers that come to almost a complete halt at each street sign, while the line of cars behind us, honk their frustration.

Forget threading a needle! I don’t think I’ve threaded a needle in the past 10 years. If it can’t be repaired with masking tape, iron-on patches, or safety pins its’ off to the tailor, or trash heap. Another bothersome thing is the laundry instructions on the clothing tags. It is just black smudges to me. I have found most items of clothing can survive a cold water wash, and a quick spin in the dryer. If this method doesn’t get the dirt out, I don’t care! I can’t see the stains anyway.

Going out for a fancy dinner can be a real puzzler.  When the lights are low and romantic, the menu is printed in a fancy script, and everyone forgot their reading specs, it really ups the ante.  I try and read the menu by holding the candle up to the printed page.  This occasionally turns into menu flambé. I broke down and bought one of those little lighted magnifying cards. Oh that brought on a multitude of chuckles. I had the last laugh, when my dining companions eagerly awaited their turn to use it.

To anyone who has ever had to read the serial number off of the back of an electronic gadget, I feel your pain. It had gotten to the point where using just a headlight was not working. I had to wait for one of my children to come home after school, to read the numbers for me. Problem solved. I am now the owner of not one, but two magnifying glasses.  It is like a whole new world! I can finally read the instructions for the remote and program my phone. I can follow the teeny tiny instructions on the Mac n’ Cheese box, no more cheddar pasta soup for us!

I know I am not alone in the land of the blurry vision. I keep seeing info-mercials for the “Threads Itself Needle”, and “Magnifier Glasses”.  My kindle even has a font size application to increase the print size. However to get the size I want, cuts down the words per page to about 10.

Many of my peers have the same diminishing vision issues, and herein lay the bright spot. When I run into old friends or former High school chums, we all remark to each other how we still look the same, and have not changed! There is something to be said for losing your sight, as long as your friends are too!