(no subject)
Ah, Canterbury's first graduation. As the three girls stood around in their white dresses, I couldn't help but be reminded of Emily Dickenson's penance for wearing white all the time. Luckily, there was no mention of buzzing flies or anything else of that morose nature. I cried a few times during each of their speeches for the sheer fact that all their memories are my memories too. My dinner was the table of deserts selected by the girls. My stomach hates me and would like to rebel against this union at the moment.
Seeing people I grew up with is always an amusing thing. I suppose it's like going back to any place where memories are abundant, except people are different from buildings. They aren't static, so sometimes the Renoir will turn into a Pollack. Still art, but different (and no smarmy comments of the quality of Pollack's work. His name came to my mind first.) With buildings it's just a phenomena of everything seeming smaller with the passing of time. Eventually people give in to this trend, as the age-old riddle concerning the life span of man illustrates (you know, the 4 leg, 2 leg, 3 leg one). Luckily my miniature class reunions occur at a time when all are reaching towards their fullest glory, no matter what it may be. Chances are after next year, I will never see any of them again. I only go up to the school because my mom works there. In 10-20 years, I won't be invited to the class reunions. I abandoned ship and I have my own to go to. At least I'll have this as my memory. Not thinning hair, dull office jobs, and a few cases of Botoxed faces trying to capture the un-capturable.
For the past week or so, I've been listening to either "WRR Classical 101.1" or NPR when I actually have the radio on in the car. I have become 40 at the age of 17. Plus I look 24 in my new driver's license picture. All signs point to a reverse Big effect.
On another note, Nikola Tesla is SO my dead scientist boyfriend.
Seeing people I grew up with is always an amusing thing. I suppose it's like going back to any place where memories are abundant, except people are different from buildings. They aren't static, so sometimes the Renoir will turn into a Pollack. Still art, but different (and no smarmy comments of the quality of Pollack's work. His name came to my mind first.) With buildings it's just a phenomena of everything seeming smaller with the passing of time. Eventually people give in to this trend, as the age-old riddle concerning the life span of man illustrates (you know, the 4 leg, 2 leg, 3 leg one). Luckily my miniature class reunions occur at a time when all are reaching towards their fullest glory, no matter what it may be. Chances are after next year, I will never see any of them again. I only go up to the school because my mom works there. In 10-20 years, I won't be invited to the class reunions. I abandoned ship and I have my own to go to. At least I'll have this as my memory. Not thinning hair, dull office jobs, and a few cases of Botoxed faces trying to capture the un-capturable.
For the past week or so, I've been listening to either "WRR Classical 101.1" or NPR when I actually have the radio on in the car. I have become 40 at the age of 17. Plus I look 24 in my new driver's license picture. All signs point to a reverse Big effect.
On another note, Nikola Tesla is SO my dead scientist boyfriend.