Sunday, April 3, 2011

Pushing through the pain

1981...not really sure what's going on here
2011...we don't lie together on the floor anymore, intentionally.
Although I only spent a year with them in high school this group of people has become more gracious and welcoming with each passing reunion.  But the one thing I can’t recreate with most of them is a history, because we have none. I haven’t met their parents or their siblings, we never played together once upon a time in pre-school, we weren’t ever best friends in the 4th grade. Those friends are in Philadelphia for me. The three friends I made my senior year in New Orleans, well, we've never lost touch. There’s lots of history but no need to catch up as we chat weekly at minimum. So this weekend was a bit like being a spouse at my own reunion. I watched as my classmates reconnected and delighted in their entwined childhoods and it was charming and beautiful to see.  And like a spouse, man, whatever!  It was a party.  The company was great, the food was great, the surroundings were lush...from a 44th floor view over the Mississippi to dancing the night away at a mansion in the Garden District.  It was all good.

two of the three dearest friends I'll ever have no matter how old I get
My gals and I dubbed the weekend Push Through the Pain 2011 for its late nights and early mornings (because, of course, we're women of a certain age) and doing it over and over again for four days straight.  Monday morning, I had to leave.  My life depended on it.

Debris with grits at Mothers...that's exactly what you need after a night out on the town.
It soaks up everything.
gittin' our mudbug on
Brennans' Eggs Shannon.  Trout and creamed spinach with a hint of nutmeg.  Now that's brunch

Positively N'Awlins.
oysters on the grill, as you do in new orleans
room with a view
hurricanes at 1am
beignets and coffee at 3am

The reunion continues on Facebook this week as we reminisce about our reminiscences.  Those who couldn’t attend post desperate entreaties to “tag” people because nobody’s recognizable in the pictures. Life has been good to most of us and we look durn good, but maybe not enough like our 18 year old selves to be easily identified in a still photo. In person it came slowly, but with animation we would break into smiles as the 18 year olds in us emerged and passed over our faces fleetingly.  A kiss on the cheek, a gentle embrace, kind words.  Smart, cultured, warm and genteel people. I am looking forward to the 35th already, but first I've got to see about getting rid of this pesky liver.

Mollie requests the waiter not set her hair on fire

He obliges...voila, bananas foster

1 comment:

  1. Great pix...I kinda always wondered what happened to you Senior were at Harriton...then you were not...