As I started out on those all too familiar roads, I realized after quite some time had passed, that I was mindlessly driving, listening to banging music and the all too familiar words about growing-up and moving-on. Even if I were to be blindfolded, I would know my way down all those country roads full of winter-time dried-up fields, barren spaces for miles, houses sparking-up here and there, with few stop signs or reasons to slow down along the way. And at any point and time, even if thought I had strayed from the natural path, I could simply lower the glass window on my driver’s door, get a whiff of the smell that would immediately barge into my memory bank, and I would know, once again, that I was on the pathway to home.
I drove, still listening to that same mixed CD which was home-made by my oldest son; all the songs random and different, sung by males and females, just how I liked them to be. Old rock and roll one minute, a warbling country tune the next; all the music that sounds as mismatched as my own personality; a plethora of lyrics that describe my life perfectly.
My thoughts wandered around to the events at hand, the whole reason for this rambling road-trip back home, to the place I was not necessarily born but certainly raised, where many of my childhood friends still reside, and more importantly, where my parents still live. I would visit with both that day, laughing and talking, remembering, re-winding, reminiscing and rejoicing.
It was a mix-match of women at that long table; a combination of three or more high schools and
I believe someone at the table, at some point, said this coming year would be our 35th reunion from high school. How does that even happen? I mean it was literally just yesterday we were sitting in high school court yards talking about our boyfriends, our break-ups, or a test we didn’t study for enough. And yesterday, so much of the talk was about our children, our jobs, non-functioning bladders, menopause, multiple marriages and gasp….THE GRANDCHILDREN! I swear to sugar, I have no idea how or when all that happened; and what the heck were all of us teenagers doing talking about Depends!
My mother said it best yesterday when she said, that when we all get together like that, we all become 16 years old again, no matter the time that has passed, the shapes that have changed or the wrinkles that have formed. Ain’t nothing like being young again, even if for only a day.