i give "thanks" for failing memories ...

... creative writing, wonderful diction, high school, and e-mail. for without any of these, i would not have received the note below ... from an h.s. classmate who did not make it to the 25th reunion, who may (perhaps) grace us with his presence at the next h.s. reunion, and who didn't remember me ...

[CONTEXT: i remember PS wrote his last senior english paper,
which was titled "the art of scatology".]

Ms. YOU, aka Blog Queen,

It's a good news, bad news kind of thing: I certainly remember the name of YOU, but the face I have associated with that name and the face in the photos associated with the name don't quite match up precisely. (Ditto Ariel .) But I chalk that up to time and the tricks it plays on memories and faces.

(Though I am being overly generous to myself. I have always had a terrible memory for faces/names. Do you want to feel the hot flame of shame, if only vicariously? Start by imagining Christmas 1981. You got that? Six months after high school graduation. I'm in a store with a friend, and I run into someone I went to high school with. Not just anyone, someone I had a crush on--OK, that doesn't really help, because I had a crush on every girl I went to high school with--someone I had classes with, worked on plays with, etc. And I begin introducing my friend to my former classmate, and then...nothing. I dry. An excruciatingly long pause, in which everyone looks at their shoes, searches frantically for a trapdoor, prays for death, and then I muster a feeble "So, how's it been going?" The horror. The horror.

Same thing used to happen at family reunions growing up. Granted, I had a big family--on the order of 60-70 cousins and step-cousins, with about 15 or 16 aunts and uncles, not to mention a few "greats" of various types. There was no way I could keep it straight. I would just smile and not say anything. There were aunts whose first words on seeing me were always, "You probably don't remember me. I'm your Aunt ____." And they were right, of couse. Even if I really thought I knew them, I'd not take a chance. Why risk it? They were on to me and still not pissed, so why blunder something out? I'd smile and thrust out my cheek to be pinched or patted and hope it would end quickly.)

OK, back to now....I may not really remember you, but now I feel like I know everything about you, or at least about your dating life, your move from San Diego to Bay Area, your coffee drinking and reading habits, and other sundry items. I approve on all counts. And if that weren't enough to make me well disposed to you, I have to say that anyone who says my daughter is cute is clearly a person of discrimination and good taste. Move to the head of the class!

I can't say I remember the scatology paper--what were the good Christian Brothers teaching us, I wonder--though it is good to know that I exerted a salutory (baleful?) influence. Frightening, too, since I can only wonder the offhanded damage I will do to my daughter. I shouldn't blame the Christian Brothers; in grad school, my classmates in translation dubbed me the "Lewd Lexicographer" for my ability to supply just the right English equivalent for whatever pungent colloquialism was leaving them stumped. Filth was clearly my metier.

Say hello to Dave R. Again, his is a name I recall, but the face...? Alas, lost to time.

Good luck with your relocation, job, love life, blog(s) and whatever else your wit and passion direct you to.

Best,

P. (Suffering from Incipient Alzheimers) S.

... oh you, PS - thanks sooooo much for taking the time not to remember me! i heart you!

happy thanksgiving and until the next lapse of memory...