Held by the Sea

Last week while on vacation with family and friends, I stood in the wet sand on a beach in Costa Rica and looked out to the horizon, where the ocean meets the sky at a magical point of infinity. The warm water swirled at my ankles as the tide washed in and out. This Pacific Ocean is an old friend I have missed terribly.

The Pacific and I parted ways 17 years ago when we moved away from my native California to Austin, Texas. I've been back to visit the Pacific many times since, of course, but I feel land-locked in Texas, and torn away from something so meaningful to me, that endless and magnificent sea. As a kid I lived in Hermosa Beach where I swam in the ocean nearly every day, bobbing in the waves on my Dad's back when I was very young, then body surfing those waves as I got older. The ocean connected me to the world, cradled me, calmed me. When I swam in the ocean I was swallowed up in the planet, folded in, embraced by it. It was always that way for me when I was in the sea ... it touched me and soothed me like a cool hand on feverish skin.

My family left Hermosa Beach when I was 15 years old and we moved to the Bay Area. I remember the day of my last swim at the beach. The car was packed and we were to leave for Oakland the following morning. That last afternoon I swam way out and bobbed and floated over the rolling waves, then literally said goodbye to my ocean.

"I love you," my tender, young self said out loud. "Thank you for giving me so much. I'll miss you."

Yet last week as I stood there ankle deep on that beach in Costa Rica, the years and the distance to my youth on the shores of Hermosa Beach fell away. This was the same ocean in a different country, the same waters that lapped at my feet, the same Pacific I loved, the same old friend. So much time had passed since I swam in the Pacific that last day in Hermosa Beach. But now the 50 years swam together to form what had become my precious life. The ocean was always there, a constant. Just feeling the water on my skin, or even just looking out to sea, I felt my powerful place in the world.

So this rather mature beach girl waded further out, waist deep. The small breakers crashed against me. Further still and up to my chest, nicely shaped waves were peaking and breaking. I hopped towards a big one and went under it just before it broke. Then that old familiar spring off the bottom and break through to the surface, feeling like a dolphin ... and into the calm on the other side. It was like coming up into another world ...  remote, quiet, weightless. Then bobbing and bobbing, and watching for the next waves to swell and roll in, just floating and being held by the sea.

Oh baby, you knooooooow what ah like!

Having just returned from my 40 year high school reunion... Piedmont High School, Class of '71 .... I have just one thing to say about that:

Oh baby, that's what ah like!

Never before have I been amongst a more beautiful crowd. From the beaming faces to the open arms and hearts, this was a Love Fest to beat all Love Fests. I am bowing and hailing the incredible organizing committee for bringing us all together for this amazing reunion. Thank you a hundred times over .... Hank, Gail, Sherri, Carl, and Garrett.

PHS Class of 1971

This was a night when the high school cliques and groups dissolved and became one big happy circle. Hugs were served up all around whether you knew each other well in school or not. (Hugs of the wine-sloshing, rib-crushing variety as I predicted in my last post ... was I right? Hmmm?) I think this was the hugging-est event I've ever been to. A T-Bird Woodstock. A feast of warm fuzzies. A perfect Piedmont par-tay.

Kim, Mark, Debi & Gary

Glasses were raised as toasts were made, arms were punched, lipsticked kisses were planted on cheeks, asses were grabbed, stories of delinquent days were swapped, photos of kids and grand kids were pulled from wallets, and beer was swilled once again (but this time not in cars at Senior Circle). Someone said the funniest thing as he raised his glass to a group of us chatting together (was it Kim Gimbal?) ... he said, "My God, I think this is the first time I've had a drink with all of you legally!" Hilariously true! 

Kim Gimbal with his chickie babies; Debbie, Sherri, Debbie and Moi

Carole, Katie, Debi, & Debbie

Sue, Tracy, Ann and me

The room roared with shouts of recognition, lively conversation and laughter and needless to say, pretty soon everyone began to feel real loose like a long necked goose. And oh baby ... that's what ah like!

Classmates Tracy & Kent; too cute not to post!

Me with the man of the hour, Hank; reunion organizer and T-Bird drummer extraordinaire

John, Garret (Zook), Kim & Scott

Coleen, Cheri, Shelly, Belinda, Noel, Sherri & Gail

Oh yeah, and I think there might have been just a little bit of music .... and perhaps some dancing going on.

The teenage girls of the Class of  '71

Our class is so lucky to have our beloved T-Birds, the most awesome group of teenage boys who formed a Sha Na Na inspired band back in the day, and who have continued to perform over the years, most memorably at every high school reunion we've had.

Dan, Hank, Christoph, Kim (hidden on drums), Kent & Scott

Scott Bowhay; pure joy

We possessively call them "our own band" and brag that no other high school class has this. Last Saturday night our T-Birds give us all a priceless gift ... one night to kick off our 58- year old's clunky shoes with orthotic inserts, step into our teenager be-boppin' shoes, and return to our youth. Time fell away and we were kids again. No hair color in a bottle, no face lift, no red Ferrari, no nuthin' could make us feel that young again. Only a night with our boys, the T-Birds. Thank you, guys! Why must I be a teenager in love with all of you?

Forty years ago we were unaware of what lay ahead of us. Now we have those answers and our blank pages have been written and filled with our own unique stories of the paths we chose. I love that we came together to share them. Who would have ever thought that after all this time, we would reach across the years and celebrate our teenage years together in our lovely home town of Piedmont in 2011? This reconnection brought our scattered worlds together, if only for one night. 

Hank

Carl & Scott

But we've lost eight classmates ... gone much too soon, so many blank pages which should have described their extended lives, left unwritten. These classmates were beautifully honored and remembered through a moving video and song, thanks to Hank, Christoph and Kim. I choose to believe these eight classmates were with us on this wonderful night, reminding us that we are so blessed and privileged to be continuing on and that every day is to be cherished.

As the night drew to a close, Katie Wood Cole said it best. The T-Birds were playing their final song and she tearfully hugged old friends on the dance floor saying, "I don't want it to end."

Katie

It doesn't have to.

Call me a sappy sentimentalist but I think we were given something that night that we will always carry with us. Nothing can take it away. And besides, rumors of a 5-year reunion are already buzzing, people. And talk of a dinner gathering next year! Why wait til we're 68??? And then there is Facebook, which thankfully keeps many of us connected on a daily basis.

The boys in the band in Debi Bartlett Anderson's high school mustang.

Love you all. Virtual hugs, ass grabs, and lipsticked kisses all around. 

Oh baby, that's what ah like!

xoxo,

                Michelle 

P.S. Many thanks to Lorraine Moreira for most of the fabulous photos I used here, and to Tracy Mikkelson and Coleen Casey Manuel's husband for a couple more. 

Evolution of a Snotty Teenager

"You haven't changed a bit!"

"And YOU look exactly the same!"

"And YOU haven't aged a day!"

"I would have known you anywhere!"

We'll  lie and lie and lie.

At our 40 year high school reunion next month.

But really, we'll only be half lying. Because in many ways, behind the extra girth, snow on the rooftop and double chins, we are still the same. This is what I discover at every reunion I attend. And I have to confess, I'm a reunion addict. I go to all of them, high school or college, I recruit/beg friends to go, and  when I worked for the University of Pacific many (many!) years ago, one of the hats I wore was that of official class reunion organizer. I helped bring together a range of alums, young and old ... from the 32-year olds for their 10 year reunions to the 72-year olds who were being indoctrinated into the Half Century Club. It was so, so rewarding to see these classmates come together again. So I guess it's in my blood.

I love reunions because I feel like the buddies we had way back then are some of the most important friends we'll have in our lives. They knew us when we were shaping, growing, and trying to figure who the hell we wanted to be. Unlike friendships we've forged since then, our high school friends knew us at our core, before we signed up for all the grown-up stuff. When I reunite with friends from my youth, especially if it's been decades since I've seen them, the years simply fall away as I bring them back into the folds of my life. That reconnection is a gift.

Reunions mean time travel. For one weekend we can squeeze back into our 18-year old skins and look into the young faces of old friends who knew us when life was less complicated. We'll catch ourselves being hilariously and shamefully immature once again. We'll forgive and forget, even bury the hatchet if there is a hatchet to be buried.

We'll come together on that old familiar ground where we rolled up our skirts, sneaked our cigs, and drove those narrow, winding streets of our small town like Formula One drivers. This is the place where we sat in cars at lunchtime and belted out "One Less Bell To Answer" with the radio (sorry, guys) and where we ... oh, I dunno, we might have done stuff like ditch history class by jumping out the ground floor window when the teacher turned to write on the blackboard.* This is the place where our hearts were broken and mended, where we yearned to be accepted, and where we eventually parted ways after graduation to venture out into an unknown world, solo, without each other.

But much as we may often wish for our youth again, growing up is the gratifying part of life. Really. Because let's face it ... in high school we were sometimes snarky and shallow, snotty and clique-y. I know there were times I was mean to certain people, and I know I was especially sullen and snotty to my parents. For which I'm truly sorry.

At a reunion though, we proudly show each other that we really did grow up, that we now actually have grown-up qualities like responsibility, compassion, and kind, generous and grateful hearts ... everything we always had deep within us anyway, even then. We now recognize the once unthinkable; that we've evolved from snotty teenagers to adults with wiry, grey hair, cholesterol issues, and (heaven forbid) common sense. We quit smoking, let our skirts down, and subscribe to NetFlix so we can stay home on Friday nights. We've become the very parents we said we'd never become, with the very kids we once were. Yep, I love that we knew each other at our core back then, but what I love more is seeing who we've now become. Kinder, deeper, less judgmental, more tolerant and open-hearted.

I'm SO excited about The Big 40th. This is an important reunion (as high school reunion statistics indicate) because it's usually the one with the greatest attendance. And that's because:

a.) 40 years is a loooooong time and people are finally revved up to see each other again, and ....

b.) while we don't look "exactly the same" at age 58, everyone still looks pretty good, and ...

c.) everyone knows that it will probably be the last reunion, because in another 10 years you look pretty much like crap and nobody wants to go to a reunion.

These are just the facts, people.

Not gonna lie.

And so, Piedmont High School, Class of 1971 .... if any of you are reading this, I'm recruiting/begging once again. If you haven't already registered for our 40th reunion, please do. In just three weeks we'll hear the squeals of recognition and the nicknames shouted out, followed by wine-sloshing, rib-crushing hugs.

And then the lies.

****************************************************************

* Let the record show that this was not just one student who would slip out that window ... there were times when the teacher would turn around to continue the lecture and one third of the class would be gone! To the late Doc Benson, please forgive us ... we were just a bunch of snotty teenagers.