The invitation came about two weeks ago. It was the kind of invitation I would normally not even think twice about. Rose, a woman I had gone to high school with, was inviting us to her birthday party. Now I haven't seen Rose in about 40 years. The last time was one of my most embarrassing moments. I had invited classmates to our house for the afternoon to celebrate the 10th anniversary of our graduation. About 5 or 6 turned up. I had just given birth about a week before and my intention was to give them drinks and hors d'oeuvres, but apparently I had somehow given them the impression that I was inviting them for dinner.
Rather than be honest, I threw some godawful thing together. I don't know what, but I remember it included the driest ham I have ever eaten. You just don't have a full stocked larder right after you've given birth!
Not surprisingly, I haven't heard from any of them in the intervening 40 years. But the school is now planning our 50th anniversary and that has put me back in touch with a few of my former classmates, Rose among them.
Not being a social butterfly, I would normally make an excuse why we couldn't attend -- it did involve driving to San Francisco, after all. I hadn't attended our 40th anniversary because I was too embarrassed about my weight. But my "big sister" Joycie has convinced me that I'll be sorry if I miss this one and so I'm planning on going (even attending the Mass, I guess).
When Rose's invitation arrived, I decided that I was going to force myself to go. It would be good to see her, she must surely have invited at least a couple of others of our classmates and I needed to get out in social situations more. I RSVPd. Remember that other than parties involving family or the Pinata family, I go through the mental tortures of the damned before almost any social situation. I'm always convinced I'm going to make a fool of myself, or feel like a wallflower stuck off in a corner with nobody to talk to me.
Rose is retired now, but she had a long career as a physician and she owns a lovely home in an incredibly gorgeous location in San Francisco. This is the view from her balcony.
It overlooks Golden Gate park and beyond it the Golden Gate bridge. This was one of those rare crystal clear San Francisco days that I love and so it was the best of all possible conditions.
We climbed up to the living room and I poked my head in. I didn't recognize anyone. Then Rose came out from the kitchen and it took her a minute to recognize me under all this flab. We talked a bit and she took me to the kitchen to get me set up to have some of her home made chili. I was afraid I'd be a klutz and spill it on her white carpet. There was nowhere to sit with the group, so I sat in a chair off to the side, in the wallflower position. And, of course, I proceeded to spill a bit of chili on myself, but fortunately I'd worn black and it didn't get on the carpet. I did not spill my lemonade (score one for me).
The conversation was interesting. These were all fascinating, successful people, with a heavy emphasis on the medical profession. They were discussing ballet and post-traumatic stress syndrome, and the Oscars, and Obama's health plan. I couldn't participate because I was being a wallflower again, but one guy got up to leave and I took his seat on the fireplace, which put me smack dab in the middle of the conversation.
How I'd missed this! Sitting around with intelligent people talking about current events and nobody getting angry, but everyone offering fascinating insights into so many different topics. It was like the breakfasts Nancy, Joan and I have once or twice a year, only multiplied to a larger group.
At some point Rose's 11 year old nephew asked me, innocently, if I knew how to play Chess. I told him I didn't really, but I remembered how the pieces moved, at least, and would be willing to have a game with him. He wiped the board with my bloody carcass after he "chased me all over the board" (which is how Rose described his method of play), but it was fun.
A latecomer was a larger than life orthopedist who was an absolutely fascinating man who showed us pictures of his adopted Siberian son (now 12, adopted in infancy) and talked about working in 3rd world countries with Doctors without Borders, and the mess that health care is in in this country right now. It was like being back at Women's Health in the good old days.
No other former classmates showed up and I didn't ask if any had been invited, but I just had a fabulous time (so did Walt). I'm so glad I talked myself into overcoming my normal reticence for social events like this. I'm also feeling more comfortable about the upcoming reunion, having taken my flab at least part way out of the closet.
We stopped on the way home for dinner at a Chinese buffet which offered "all you can eat crab." Now you KNOW that's gonna grab me...and it did. Walt was intrigued by the blue jello and had to have some for dessert. He said it tasted like Mr. Clean (I'm not sure when he last tasted Mr. Clean.)
When we got home there were two messages from our neighbor, left 15 minutes apart, complaining about Spencer's barking. Ashley says some folks are coming to look at him next weekend...I sure hope this ends up being a forever family for him.
1 comment:
I don't know if I have ever had blue jello and I REALLY, REALLY want to see San Francisco. :-)
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