Musings

I just spent the last hour perusing my university alumni magazine. Increasingly, I find that exercise to be not unlike reading the current Mariner's roster: a sea of unfamiliar names and faces. Today however I read a piece on a dear old friend, Pixie, who has lived in England since forever, has a rector husband and four kids. It sounds like her life is very full and very British. And there was a bit on a professor, under whom I studied American History. I most remember the day he delivered a lecture on the key battles of the Civil War while impersonating Howard Cosell.

The professor looked old; impish, but old. Pixie looked older, too. It took me a while to recognize her. The flaming red, amazingly beautiful long locks were replaced with a more sensible rectors wife bob. But the smile was the same. Pixie had the greatest smile and a fantastic laugh. Her photo suggested that she retains that spark and spirit that earned her the name "Pixie" in the first place. But it was still weird to see her looking older, mature. Has it been that long? Have I changed that much? I don't feel like I look that much different than I did twenty five years ago. You now know something about my gift for denial.

Big Saturday plans: finish grocery shopping, pick blackberries for cobbler, clean dog snot off the inside windows of my car, not play Age of Empires (see yesterday's post). The Child and I are going to indulge in mac and cheese for dinner as the Spouse is going to some hoity-toity arty hooha with film-making buddies. The Child and I are going to watch "While You Were Out". Fergie is going to be on it. So we'll have a pretty classy evening, too.