Every year at back-to-school time I am filled with a sort of nostalgia-tinged relief that I am not personally going back to school. There’s something about filling a backpack full of fresh notebooks and pens, though, that has a bright promise of new beginnings about it. The nostalgia comes from echoed memories of new beginnings; the relief from not having to go to a whole new school year of pressures and drama.

The pause of last week was good, because I cannot help but feel it’s a fall of new beginnings anyway this year. Today is Labor Day. It’s coming up on the anniversary of Dad’s death and I’ve been doing some thinking about how the burden of grief is shifting, lately. It’s coming to the start of fall, which is always one of my favorite times. Even in the middle of last year, I could really appreciate the beauty (and relief!) of the cooler temperatures, of the coming change.

And non-symbolically, things are getting busy again. I’m about to start a seven-week improv comedy class with the Baltimore Improv Group, and the group I sing with comes off its brief end-of-summer hiatus this week too. I have concerts coming up, a company picnic, a trip to visit a dear friend’s new baby, the wedding of two other dear friends – it’s going to be a full, busy fall.

But the still times are important; even more so as life builds to a frantic pace again. I love the feeling of busy-ness but I feel the negative impact when I go too long without taking time for myself. That’s what this week was. I stayed in, and relaxed, and thought. This weekend I went for a little hike, and hung out with friends, and generally had a lovely time. And now it’s time to spin up again for a bit, to put the energy I’ve built up back out into the world. I don’t even need a backpack full of empty notebooks to do it.

Importantly, I want to note that I realize that core of truth is not “a magic shirt” but rather one that makes me feel so good, so comfortable when I’m wearing it that it kind of shines through. It’s hard for me to describe. I have had a contentious relationship with clothing over the years. Some of it had to do with my weight. Some of it had to do with my inability to stand up to ridicule and criticism from others. At various times in my life I’ve made strides toward developing a personal style, but unfortunately a number of these strides were made at particularly awkward and adolescent times. No sooner would I try to branch out then I’d get mocked/slammed/shunned/whatever by my peers.

How I wish I had been strong enough not to listen, not to care. But I wasn’t, so I cared, a lot. I made my major concern fitting in for a while. Then I made my major concern “being comfortable.” In a lot of ways that hasn’t changed. What some items of clothing have taught me recently (the magic shirt, the perfect high school reunion dress) is that at its best, clothing can be both comfortable and striking, even stunning. It can inform a mood and affect the way you carry yourself. It’s been a bit of a revelation because I usually laugh off anything having to do with “fashion.” While this doesn’t get me any closer to understanding couture, it does make some things seem clearer.

As an example, I recently met a lovely older woman whose personal style I admired. In the course of our conversation (we were both volunteering at a local blues festival), she mentioned that she’d had the long denim skirt she was wearing since 1969. It struck me immediately that she had achieved what I wanted: such a sense of herself and her style, her comfort, that there were pieces of clothing that had actually become pieces of her character.

Will I still have my magic shirt in 41 years? If it holds up, then yeah. Maybe I will!

“Do you think you could find that store again, that little shop we stopped at last month?”

“Yes, I’m fine, thanks for asking.”

“Oh hush, I know you’re fine, you emailed me 30 minutes ago. What about the shop?”

“I’m sure I could find it again, yeah. Why?”

“They put some kind of magic hoodoo spell on that shirt I got.”

“The really pretty green one? Wait. ‘Magic hoodoo’?!”

“Seriously.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Every time I put on that shirt, men are powerless around me.”

“Honey, it’s a nice shirt, but…”

“My hand to God.”

“What do you mean, men are powerless?”

“Okay, so I take it home and wash it ‘cause that’s what you have to do, you might be excited to wear a new shirt but you really have to wash it first because they’re like packaged in formaldehyde or something…”

“HOO. DOO.”

“Okay! A couple days after I take it home and wash it I wear it for the first time. When I’m out at lunch I have, like, the most attentive waiter in the WORLD. And he’s hot, too.”

“Hot waiter, hunh? Where were you eating?”

“That place by work that you hate, with the funny sinks.”

“GAH…”

“So this really hot waiter is super-attentive. And actually talks to me, like nearly pulls out a chair to sit down by me except he sees his manager. Anyway: not typical.”

“Stop selling yourself short.”

“Aw, thanks! But really? WEIRD.”

“He thought you were cute, wanted a good tip.”

“Okay, killjoy, you could maybe explain it that way, but there is more evidence.”

“Tell me.”

“The next time I wear the shirt, guess who I run into?”

“Who?”

“Guess!”

“The hot waiter again?”

“Nope. Who would I be really, really excited to see, and he’s been really busy?”

“OH MY G…”

“PreCISEly.”

“Whoa.”

“I know, right?”

“Wait, are you saying this shirt summoned him?”

Brief silence. “Do not underestimate the power of this shirt.”

“….”

“And stop snickering!”

“Okay, look. One hot waiter possibly looking for a tip from a cute girl in a cute shirt, one lucky coincidence.”

“Next up, guy at a concert. Super tall, lanky, possibly emotionally unavailable…”

“Exactly your type!”

“Right? Comes up and hands me a beer.”

“Whoa. Doesn’t even ask you first?”

“Nope! And it’s too loud to talk, so I smile, and we hang out drinking beer, and when I put mine down he grabs my hand and starts dancing with me.”

“Dancing where people touch?”

“Yes.”

“But not in a filthy, non-consensual way?”

“Yes.”

“Next you will tell me Santa Claus also exists.”

“The next time I wore the…”

“Jesus, how many times have you worn this damn shirt already?!”

“It’s magic!”

“Aren’t you scared you’re gonna wear out the hoodoo, then?”

“Saturday at the show, one of the out-of-town guys walked up to me and honestly said, ‘You look really hot.’”

“Damn!”

“Yep.”

“Not ‘hello, I must say, you look lovely’?”

“Nope.”

“Not ‘Daaamn, girl’ in a sort of a drag queen kind of a way?”

“Nope. And he wasn’t drunk or high or anything.”

“Geez, ease up. A guy doesn’t have to be drunk to think you’re hot.”

“I know, but to SAY it? Completely without embarrassment or reservation?”

“…”

“Exactly.”

“It IS a really pretty shirt.”

“It is!”

“I’m getting out the map and finding that store again.”

“Damn straight.”

Mercifully, I fell back to sleep.

I woke up again a little more than an hour later, realizing some decisions had been taken out of my hands. I didn’t get to church, brunch, OR the movie. I did get a new wallet (the old one was literally ripping apart). I did get groceries. I did clean my apartment.

I did walk in the rain. I did do more thinking about what the practice of religion means to me, versus the mere state of spirituality. I thought about failing to do a thing or two while still not feeling like A Failure. I thought about people I treasure.

Now I’m thinking falling back asleep was the best decision I could have made, all things considered, even if it wasn’t a conscious decision. Now I’m thinking of a quiet evening at home, inside, with the cats, peaceful.

Happy Sunday.

Self portrait with dress

After seeing some pictures on Facebook of the Class of ’89 reunion last year, my suspicion was that 20 years was long enough for people to let go of those things I’d listed above: grudges, bad feelings, unresolved issues. I talked to all sorts of people, even a few people I’d basically not known at all, and that was cool. One of the neatest things was when a few of us who had all known each other not just since high school but since elementary school got together for a snapshot!

The gang from Yorktown Elementary

We went to school so long together by an accident of geography. Our parents lived in one particular section of Bowie and never moved as we progressed from kindergarten through the 12th grade. With so many people moving around so much, it was fascinating it even happened. That was cool.

As the slide show went by, and I talked with people, and laughed, and heard stories, I thought about history as well as geography. That was all that brought my class together, really. I didn’t go to a small private school, or a magnet school that concentrated on a particular area of study. I went to the sole high school for the city I lived in, and there were over 500 people in my graduating class. As I looked at the old pictures, and then at the adults we’d all become walking around the room, I realized we had no cohesive spirit that was holding us together.

High school is a weird time for almost everyone, I think. So few people know who they are or what they want; they’re just starting on the path to figuring that out. Last night a bunch of adults got together, who were all much, much more together than we were 20 years ago. I know I’ve become more confident, more fulfilled, happier, and more complete a person than I was then. And for the most part, do you know? I bet that was true of almost every person there.

What I really walked away with was a profound sense of appreciation for the people I have in my life on a day to day basis. Being reminded of those early relationships – bad and good! – made me so grateful for what I learned over the intervening years. Some things I learned quickly; some slowly, stubbornly. And of course some things I still haven’t learned – I don’t want to set up the illusion of false wisdom. Just because I think we are almost to a person more wise at 38 than we were at 18 hardly means we have all the answers. Maybe part of wisdom is realizing how few of the answers we really do have.

Fare you well, members of the Bowie High School Class of 1990! I wish you all the best for the future, as we all continue on our journeys, whatever they are and wherever they take us.

And thank you, friends who knew me then and have stuck with me through all the rough/weird/awkward times. Thank you, friends who never knew me then, for helping me come to deeper and more adult relationships than I possibly could have built then. One of the most freeing things that happens to us after high school, I believe, is the freedom of geography: until you meet more people from more places I think it’s hard to carve out the people whose friendships will be the best for you. In public high school, I think, it’s a case of doing what you can with what you have. It was nice to look back, but the best part was how happy it made me to walk away with a smile and simply keep looking forward.

And it was a weekend away with some friends, which is a far, far more pleasant way to let things slack on the thread. Whenever I go somewhere and relax by talking with friends, I seem to lose the urgency I sometimes have to write. “Enh!” I seem to think, “I’ve already communicated plenty this week, give me a break!”

While yes, that is true, I can’t let myself off the hook that easy. It looks to be a very busy month ahead, and I know sometimes that when I am too busy it is very easy for me not to keep hold of that thread. So this is my renewed promise, to get back on a better schedule of writing, and of posting the stuff that’s okay for public consumption. I’ve got that reunion this weekend, for instance, and I think I owe you some pictures of the dress.

For right now, though, I’m just checking in. Seeing how things are. Getting hold of the thread again.

When the invite came, it was for a week before Mandy’s wedding, so that wasn’t going to happen.

Looking back, I think that’s fine. Here’s why: part of the reason I’m not entirely sure why I was thinking of going to my ten-year reunion was that in 2000, I was very out of touch with myself. I wasn’t keeping up much of a journal at all, I wasn’t blogging in any form yet. I was living entirely on the surface of things. When I’d think about going back, I’d think about status-related things: who would look like what, who would drive what car, have what job, who would be married, who would have kids. (Not that marriage and kids are surface things, but I was thinking about them in a pretty superficial way.)

Now it’s ten years after that, and my 20th high school reunion is in a little less than three weeks. I bought my ticket and found a fantastic dress. And I’m ready to go.

Does mentioning the dress sound like I’m just being superficial again? Here’s why I’m happy I found it: it suits me. I think if I had seen this dress and didn’t have any functions to wear it to, I might have gotten it anyway and invented one. I haven’t always – and don’t always now – expressed myself well in the way I dress. I like to be comfortable and casual, but I like to dress up sometimes too. This new dress makes me smile. I feel so comfortable and at the same time I look pretty classy. With years of struggle with my weight and self-esteem, finding a dress that makes me this happy is kind of a big deal.

But it’s not a big deal because I want to make other people feel bad. It’s not a big deal because I want boys who didn’t give me the time of day in high school to chew their own hands off. It’s not a big deal because I feel like I am going to be given some kind of award, a tiara perhaps, and pronounced “Person Who Has Finally Learned To Dress Herself.”

It’s a big deal because I feel totally happy and totally me in it, and that’s how I want to walk into my reunion. Happenstance brought the group of us together and it’s not much more than another exercise of happenstance to have a reunion. But I’m proud of who I’ve become, not for superficial reasons, but for more abiding ones. What I’m really hoping happens at the reunion is we can all find a little bit of that in each other. And I hope the music is good, because this dress will be damn fine for dancing.

This Friday, the Sacred Harp group I’ve been singing with more or less regularly since January is performing at Artscape. We have the 5:00 – 6:00 p.m. spot at the Exotic Hypnotic stage. Bonus: this is indoors, in air conditioning!

If you haven’t been to Artscape, it’s a very cool experience. If you haven’t heard shape note singing, it’s also a very cool experience. Why not think about ditching work early and joining us?

But what I haven’t been doing is writing; at least not writing for public consumption. I’m thinking a lot because I feel like I’m finally ironing out some things that have bothered me for a long time. It’s very rewarding, and a bit exhausting, and something I hope to filter out here eventually. First I have to get a little more perspective, then I have to write about it in a more disciplined, controlled, concise way. ‘Cause y’all do NOT want to try to make heads or tails out of some of the stuff that’s been landing on the page lately.

Ultimately I’m actively making myself a work in progress, not just a thought-experiment (or just a mouth to feed or a body to clothe…).

Here is a comic I enjoy hugely, that I have already pointed out to people, and that I keep coming back to. Please enjoy it as well!

I still keep thinking about travel, though. I always want to do more of it, even though I am a bit of a homebody and love returning almost more than I love going out to explore. There’s room in life for both, though.

Lately I have been thinking about this picture a lot:

The coolest thing I have ever seen in my entire life!

This is a reproduction of a 16th century galleon that gives tours and cruises from Dubrovnik, Croatia on the Dalmatian coast. The picture is snapped from the balcony of the stateroom I shared with my parents on a Mediterranean cruise four years ago. I just looked it up and as it happens, I was in Dubrovnik exactly four years ago today, June 21st 2006. I saw this galleon going by as we were getting ready to go to breakfast, and I went out on the little balcony and took approximately 2309482 pictures, while exclaiming repeatedly, “This is the COOLEST THING I have EVER SEEN in my ENTIRE LIFE!”

As I clicked away and kept repeating that, I heard giggling coming from a balcony or two away. It didn’t give me pause. It was the coolest thing I had ever seen in my entire life!

It was the beginning of the trip and everything was magical, outlined in wonder. As the trip went on, fatigue built up, the strain of three adults sharing one not-large stateroom built up, reality came back in. But through all of it I tried to retain a sense of wonder. The things that I saw that I could not see at home. The chance to stand in places I’d only read or dreamed about. Even the joy, perceived anew, of life at home when we returned.

I have a lot I could say about that trip, about travel, about family, about cruises in general, about the European World Cup coverage in 2006 v. the ESPN World Cup coverage this year, stories about Dad for Father’s Day, stories about jet lag and funny things that happen in airports. But all I keep coming back to is that sense of wonder. I hope that I never, ever lose it.