High School the Disaster

The Capitol of the U.S.

There's an item that I've been pushing to the back of my desk for 3 months. No, not the electric bill, the request from the class of 1962 to send information about myself for our 50th reunion. They will meet near San Francisco on October 13 to compare notes instead of passing them in class, and to evaluate everyone's lives publicly with no regard for embarrassment.
No wonder I'm hedging! The best thing I can share is that I never went to prison or was homeless, although there was that one time when we moved across the country with 6 kids, a tranquilized cat and a U-haul full of sleeping bags. We were scheduled to beat the moving van to our new 150-year-old house.

Holy Names Academy in Seattle, where I appeared for 10 years.

I went to an all-girls school in Seattle for the first ten years, and established myself as a contender for class clown. The girl who took the title from me could cross her eyes and disjoint her elbows at the same time. We moved to California and I graduated from an all girls high school two years later. In that short time I was again recognized as a class clown candidate, as well as  the geeky girl from Seattle. (This was before Starbucks. NOBODY came from Seattle.)

 One day, our class president went on the intercom during morning announcements and asked for a volunteer with minimal breast development to play St. Joseph in the Christmas program. My entire homeroom class unanimously turned around and nodded to me. Hoping for fame, I took the job. Who knew they would wrap me in a brown bed sheet and glue fuzz on my face? I looked like a Chia pet. Without my glasses, I biffed my role by squinting at a fake lamb on the stage instead of the infant in the manger.
So that's my high school career: party tricks and a fake beard. Since then, I've done nothing remarkable. My proudest moment might have been as late as yesterday, when I toured my daughter's office and her co-workers treated me like a rock star. If my mother ever came to my place of work I would have hidden under the desk. She was a nice lady, but she couldn't cross her eyes.

Special thanks today to Kroger Corporation, for letting me past the security desk where they gave me the wrong combination to the bathroom, and to Lucy, Kate, Nini, Mirna, Jen, Mel, Christina, Vicki, Jeanne, Heidi, Barb with the warm hands, and my adopted baby boy Chris. A special shout-out to the server at Skyline Chili who didn't feel well but was outstanding anyway, and who didn't freak out at my rubber eyeball on the table.