Mrs. Bostwick

I think every class of high school students has that one mother. The force that was silently omnipotent during high school, and even after, has a strange lurking presence. For my high school, I'd say that force would have to be Mrs. Bostwick. Since graduation, and I think actually on graduation day, each time I have run into her (and I mean that figuratively and literally - she nearly pinned me to the wall one time), she has brought up high school reunions. When? Where? Who is planning? Will I pinky-swear to get a start on it? She may be feeling double reunion pressure because she has twin daughters that are both in my class and as such she has a lot of people that she is curious to catch up on (or I mean for her daughers to catch up with).

No, seriously, Mrs. Bostwick is great. We need parents in our lives at these hectic times to help us remember the things that we know we'll want to have remembered more when we are older. That didn't make any sense, but oh well.

It's a cold day in HK and really rainy. I am in the apartment by myself writing for work and waiting for a delivery from Ikea. On occassions like this, my thoughts turn towards high school and the wonderful friends that I've kept in touch with over the years and in some cases actually reconnected with in a stronger way. We've seen each other through a lot and for that reason, I am always anxious to catch up with them whether over IM, postcard, or eggnog. This last holiday season, a couple of us got together at Justin's new house (or should I say mega-complex) for some Catchphrase and brownie action:



And while I am glad to see those friends that I've stayed in touch with, and am axious to catch up with others, the impending approach of my ten year reunion makes me really nervous. I think one of the reasons that we moved to Asia was so that I would throw off Mrs. Bostwick's trail. No, not really, but the unforeseen benefits continue to become apparent. Yet whether in Asia, Antarctica, or Topeka, I'll always be a member of the Class of 1997. So, 2007, here you come, and I supposed I really should drop Mrs. B a postcard. She'll know where we need to start.