This is the second installment of a description of my high school reunion. If missed the previous post, you should read it first.
The first part of the reunion at the football game was about as I expected. There were a few people that it was good to see again and everyone I had talked to, even those whom I did not really remember was pleasant, but still felt disconnected. As I headed to the bar where the latter part of the evening had been scheduled, I hoped that with a bit of lubrication the rest of the evening would be more interesting.
I walked in the door, and standing at the bar was a guy I remembered from elementary school. He had not signed up for the reunion, but was crashing this event scheduled in a public place. I had not realized it, but it turned out that the reason that I had not seen him in high school was that he had moved out west at the end of seventh grade. The fact that I had not noticed that he had moved was indicative of how many of my elementary school chums I lost touch with after we left our happy little pond. It was fun to see him and hear about what he was up to, add one to the “glad I did this” list. We had not been really close back at Crestline Elementary, but he now seemed like someone I would like to hang out with.
Drink in hand, I went to an outside patio where fifty or more were already in attendance. It seemed that they had the good sense to skip the football game. Perhaps these were my people.
I stumbled into one conversation in which I heard a guy complaining about the Fed required his bank take TARP money that he would rather not have taken. Being the die hard liberal that I am, I had been pretty clear that the TARP money was pretty damn good for banks, and especially, bankers. I struggled to make what I thought I knew align with what he was saying. I wished that I could have an entire evening, or at least half an hour, with him to understand just what it was that I was missing, but knew that was not to be.
I flitted around for a while longer without much success in connecting with people before finding a seat next to Ms. Flautist. It felt a little bit like sitting at the back of the gym during a dance, but at least I was sitting with some people whom I sort of knew and I was somewhat relieved just to sit still with some really close acquaintances. It turned out to be a great place to sit. We were in a well-trafficked spot near the door, and people paraded by and talked to us. It was like holding court. I had several nice conversations and a surprising number of people said that they enjoyed reading my blog. Actually, they said “posts on Facebook,” but since most of what I post on Facebook is links to my blog, I chose to believe that they loved my writing.
Wow. People whom I hardly know read my blog. This was turning out to be pretty fun, affirming, even. This was starting to be fun.