Sydney and I have been working long days this week in preparation for our upcoming weekend away. Lest you think it’s a relaxing vacation that I’m talking about, let me explain. My political debate group from college is having its annual reunion, and Sydney’s glee club also happens to have their annual “Singing Dinner” the same day, so we thought it was a chance not to miss! Old hunting grounds need to be revisited occasionally, both to give you a chance to get away from the work that awaits you at home, and to remind you how nice home really is.
Last year when we tried to attend my alumni luncheon, our car was broken into at a rest stop on the way there, and we had to turn around and go home. This year I intend to refrain from taking any bathroom breaks near the NY/CT border, just in case that creep is still around.
On Saturday Sydney has promised to play spouse at the luncheon. I think he’s got the “look pretty” part down quite well: pink shirt, blue jacket, nice slacks, and pretty hair. But I’m not sure that the “be sociable” part is quite his game. That’s okay: none of my political friends is particularly reticent; like me, they can usually do the talking for both sides of the conversation.
After that we part ways: Sydney goes to his dinner, I go to mine. We’ll be spouseless, but just down the street from one another!
Despite all the scheduled stuff, I am also planning to get in some time with Sarah, my college roommate. For those of you who were at the wedding, Sarah would be my blond roommate; Lisa would be the brunette. Yes, yes, I know it’s terrible to identify by hair color, but it works! (And since you two were flitting about the wedding in matching purple dresses, I don’t have much else to go on.)
It’s been quite awhile since Sarah last burst into my room with a theology lecture ready to let loose, and I’m more than ready for the lecture series to continue. We functioned as perfectly adequate and happy roommates for two years before we realized we really liked sharing with each other ideas about what we were working on. Sarah suffered through my Faulkner fascination (“Wow, did you know that Faulkner wrote something like 50 books? Let me tell you all about them . . .”), and she frequently came home full of some new problem concerning Augustine’s works. I learned all about the pear tree incident in the Confessions years before I got around to reading it!
Another strange tidbit about the weekend: I think I have my political group to blame/praise for getting back into wearing skirts. I grew up much in love with the heels and dress pants; I hated tights, and I couldn’t sit cross-legged in skirts. Besides, the only skirts I was seeing were those the size of a handkerchief – no thanks! But when I joined a political party that was mostly male, I realized that I had access to far more flexibility in wardrobe than they did, and I finally decided to use it. Sheer perversity got me into girly clothing; yup, that pretty much sums up how I work.
Erin
Alan Schmierer