17 Again

Well, I haven't seen the latest Zach Effron movie but I do feel a bit like I lived it this weekend. I went to the memorial of Moky--the mother of my bff from high school.

I walked up the sidewalk to the imposing facade of a house circa 1902 or so. So many memories swept over me, like long lost friends I hadn't seen in forever. I couldn't believe the echos of kids laughter, until I saw two young tow headed girls sitting out on the sunny veranda at a table laden with new azalea blooms, eating pistachio nuts and sharing secrets. A little shy boy was walking swiftly toward me away from a large bumble bee.

I stared. The two girls strongly resembled the two mothers, sisters who had grown up in that house. One was almost the age at which I met her mother. The boy was not unlike his uncle who greeted me warmly at the front door with the most beautiful little baby in his arms. The baby has the face of an old soul, perfectly formed--not a mushy pudgy baby face. I thought that was fitting somehow. Maybe since his grandmother waited until his birth before letting go of her long journey away from her life. I was shocked he remembered me, to be honest. Mostly because I knew his older sister and in the self involved way of older sister's friends who were teenagers, I hadn't paid much attention to him all those years ago.

He called out to his sister S and I guess I expected the long blond streaming hair down to her waist and a petite little girl to emerge from the shadows at the top of the beautiful mahogany staircase. By the time she reached the newel post, she had morphed into a beautiful adult woman before my eyes.

Magpie was next and she and I had a laugh about how surprised I was to walk back into the house, which had not changed. It was like walking backwards through time because all the decorations were the same and I swear even the carpeting was the same camel color--and immaculate. Everything was so well cared for and I think the classical music playing may have been from a ....record. I admit I peeked around the house for glimpses of my memories.

The one room completely changed was her bedroom. That left me wistful for the pale green walls and pegboard covered with interesting things. How we laid across her bed and embroidered or patched our jeans and talked about boys, chess club (!) and college applications. How we smelled of Love's Baby Soft Lemon (?) and Lipsmacker lip gloss. And how we wore those ridiculous quiana shirts. (For those of you too young to know better--it was a fancy word for polyester). I am quite sure that Magpie wore an oxford button down and boat shoes or "Topsiders". She wasn't quite preppy--she actually sailed. She loved classical music and was one of my few friends not listening to awful 70s music.

Though it was a memorial, laughter and the hum of a larger crowd rose through the old lady (I guess I think of their home as maternal--owing to Moky) and reminded me of all the Christmases I remembered there. I will never eat a Diamond Smokehouse Almond without thinking of her. Or pass a gingerbread house without thinking of those days.

Also in attendance were the most incredible women, many of whom happen to be graduates of Smith College. All of whom were at the top of their game--then and now. They went to one of the most elite schools of the time--the "Daisy Chain" to the Ivy League. Many of whom were mothers of high school acquaintances. My mother went to Smith too, as did my Aunt. One of them, now in her 80s had just played golf the day before. These are women who didn't/couldn't let time stand in their way. It is so sad that Moky didn't have the choice. It was interesting to step back in time and also fast forward to what is today.

It was a beautiful afternoon, full of friendship and memories. The neighbors walked in to honor her and friends came from far away. I really believe it was such a wonderful thing to give people the chance to congregate and remember her. Many of them thanked the children for the opportunity--and I know why.

Moky gave a lot of people a "home" to come to at the holidays. She raised a family that will hang together for future generations and neighbors and a community who admired her qualities. I like to think she would have gotten a kick out of the memorial.

Touching, heartfelt words were said from neighbors and friends, unprompted and unplanned. It was genuine. I watched from the periphery, as it was years ago. I was her daughter's friend, and honestly, I am not sure she approved of me and certainly not of my politics! Though I suspect that like me, she had a healthy respect for people who spent the time to know things, who bothered to know about current events, to have principles--even if you must agree to disagree. We probably agreed on more than she would ever know...

Time marches by but we all need a chance to remember the past, to celebrate it, to wonder at it....and to be 17 again.

Memory Keeper

Years ago, gosh, decades ago, in High School, I had two best friends. One of them was Protestant and beautiful thin and blonde. Her hair had to be swept to the side or she would literally sit on it. Her jeans were always beautifully patched and sewn in the style of the time. She listened to classical music and played the flute. From the green coolness of her bedroom she looked out of her too-wise -for-her-years-eyes and could easily hurl the best, most accurate, sarcastic appraisals of our high school times and I loved her for it. She lived in one of the most beautiful homes I have ever seen, with mahogany trim. It had the perfect entry for a Christmas tree, though they always had it in the living room. We shared Christmas holidays, lots of "firsts" and all the horrors of high school.
The other was raven haired and attractive in a way none of us really understood. She had a certain charisma, a way of influencing people. She was Catholic. She was always tempting fate. She started out in little ways. She grew pot plants on her window sill. When her mother realized what they were, she vacuumed up the leaves. Neither of them said a word about it. Later in her life she was always part of a strong group, and never was just a member of a cult-like group, but was the leader of it. We shared Easter. We shared boyfriends. We shared our other best friend. She convinced us to join the chess club. The boys there would love us, she said.
And I guess I seem myself as the "stocky" brunette. But that can't be true. I was a figure skater and skated hours every day. I wasn't much over 110 pounds at 5'4". I am Jewish and shared my holidays with both of my friends. They came to Seder, to celebrate Hanukkah. Through the years many memories fade. I haven't thought about many of them. All three of us liked to write. We wrote long letters to one another. I have always had a fantasy that I would write a book about those times. I lost track of those two women. I moved to Georgia, one of us was in Africa as a missionary (I told you I have a great book here) and the other lived in NYC. I guess I always wondered if they kept my letters too. I wondered if we shared the same memories.
Years later, my path has crossed with one of them. She has inspired me to write again. Who would have thought, over 30 years ago, I would be here at this keyboard. In front of a machine that only a few (the Mathletes and Chess boys we knew) might have predicted.
She is my memory keeper. And I am hers. I didn't even remember the time we made Hamantaschen for Purim. But she did. And she even posted my old recipe, in my own hand, to her blog..
And so, maybe I will get out the letters that have moved with me from state to state, home to home. Maybe I will reread the journals. Maybe....I will write again. With thanks to my memory keeper.