You live, you learn

I had a morning coffee break with Karin yesterday, during which I brought her up-to-date on the status of my Aunt's health. (Declining as expected, with significantly crappy days and other "fairly stable" ones.)

At some point during our 90 minutes together, I mentioned my Aunt was educated as both a surgeon and a lawyer, and Karin stopped me. "Ya' know what I think is kind of amazing ?", she asked. "Nope, tell me" I responded as I slurped my mocha. "I think that my learning this after us being friends for no less than 30 years is rather unbelievable. Most friends, I would guess, never know about such things regarding their friends' various relatives." She waited for a beat or two. "But with us ... I mean, we really HAVE known each other since we were 5. Most folks would probably find it kind of strange that I'm *still* learning things about your family at all ... but, because I've known you since we were 5, I also know that there are probably things that I'll learn about you when we're 70."

As she said this, I recognized it not as a complaint, but as an observation. Though we grew up together, our families, homes, and informal educations were vastly different. She made an active decision to be more outgoing sometime during junior high school, right around the time I started to become even more protective of myself. Knowing her, as I do, she'll never ask for the details that I occasionally drop off about things and knowing me, as she does, she knows that I'll share details only when I'm comfortible in doing so. We each know this is not done in judgement - it's just how we both are.

We've never discussed, in depth anyway, our political, religious, or financial differences, which I'm certain we have. There was a time when we listened to the same radio stations, watched similar shows or movies, read the same authors, etc. Now we share quizzical facial expressions - she when I make a Two And A Half Men reference, me when she knows the lyrics to a song on Radio Disney.

Happily we still have - and always will have - enough common ground for the foundation of our friendship. She is my (and I am her) "oldest friend" ... to which she always says "not 'old' as in 'age'" and I always laugh with a response like "mmmhmm - you're outta the will, Junior". Plus, we don't live in the past, though we do share it, and we continue to learn from it ... which makes for a more interesting future anyway.

Do you remember?

I'm not one of those folks that feel they must write everyday, which is why I don't. I've had occasional musings during the silence, but nothing that I felt I needed to jot down.

Mostly, I started writing journals (which is what we called these things when paper was involved) as a way to remember stuff - some significant items, some quirky things - oh, but especially from my growing-fuzzier-all-the-time childhood years. Without going into details, I had a pretty significant injury at the age of 15, which resulted in my lack of ability to adequately recall the passage of time, a diminished ability to balance, and a loss of hearing. (As a child, I was a very limber gymnist who thought nothing of jumping onto a balance beam. As an adult, I find new ways to give myself bruises, mostly by cutting a corner too close and walking into a wall. I review my limbs at night to discover what left a mark and what didn't. Most times I don't remember how I "earned" the bruise in the first place.)

My friends - those that have known me since forever ago - laugh along with me when I say things like "the other day" because we both know that means 1983 - or it could mean yesterday. I try to tie actions in my life with where I was living, what grade I was in, where I was working ... things that I know I can figure out without actually having to do too much research. I envy those that can say "oh, yeah, well in 1978, I was finishing the 4th grade" just off the tops of their heads. I will never be that person. (And yes, I had to count backwards from my high school graduation to figure out if I was in the 4th grade in 1978.)

I know where I was when I heard that President Reagan had been shot at (having lunch at my junior high school), but aside from saying "it was the 80s" (which I associate with being "the Reagan years"), I couldn't tell you what grade I was in. (I just looked it up and am pleased to confirm that the incident occured on a Monday around what was likely lunchtime on the West Coast.) Later that year, as Christmas approached, I'd ask my mom why anyone would want to hurt the quiet man who played guitar and sang, and would spend that weekend listening as the radio played nothing but Beatles music.

I can name all of my teachers from Kindergarten through the 6th grade ... Mrs. Denzer, Miss Proctor, Miss Levy, who had to leave early in the year after she broke her back - so she was replaced by Mrs. Shell, Mrs. Smith, Miss Hayden, and then - for 5th and 6th grade, classes rotated between Mr. LeBlanc Mr. Devine, Mr. Russell, and Miss Hill ... but I can name VERY few of my junior high teachers, and my first two years of high school are equally fuzzy ('tho I can tell you, while thumbing through my yearbooks, if I was ever in their classes or not). Without looking at my resume, I presume that I spent a LOT of time at my past places of employment, and am shocked to see that it was only 3 years at that one company, and just as amazed that it WAS a whole 3 years at another.

Why am I bringing all this up? Well honestly, it's a cry for help. Ya' see, I have this bruise on my left leg that is a total mystery ...

Even with a Trojan, Beavers can cause messes

At 5:45pm this evening, as I was unwinding from a busy day, I plopped myself in front of "the idiot box" and said "ok - do your thing" to the black screen. Happily, I was rewarded not just with football ... but with college football. Actually, not just college football, but USC vs. Oregon State. Color me *very*happily*satifsifed.

Because you see ... I am a Trojan gal.

(insert obvious joke here)

Oh sure I know ... "University of Spoiled Children" and all the other crap you can say ... I've heard it all. But I just don't care. I love watching these kids play, I love watching these kids win, and most of all, I really love watching the crowd shots, especially when it's a home game. All those moms in the stadium just TRYING to smile in spite of their recent Botox shots, the dads showing off their recent hair plugs ... there's more silicon in those stands than Michael Dell and Bill Gates ever dreamed of.

The only bummers were (1) this wasn't a home game, and (B) I was a few minutes early, which means it was pre-game yammer time. The first reporter was interviewing various USC players, briefly, to ask what their strategy would be, how they felt, etc. These man-children were pumped and ready to go.

At that point, another reporter started interviewing various Oregon fans. I noticed that all the folks being asked questions were women, which I felt was a little odd considering this was a home game. I mean, there musta been plenty of chances to talk to Oregon players but *shrug* ... it was at this point that both teams took to the field.

The broadcast was still showing the faces of the women that had just been interviewed, and the reporter said "...and as you can see, there are Beavers all over the field now."

Which is when I did an honest-to-God spit-take.

And that is why this entry is titled as it is. I'm sure I'll have to say some extra "Our Fathers" this weekend ...