I Still Don't Remember You . . . .

At times, this week, the air has been so bitterly cold outside---thanks to wind chill---that I've surrendered and given up on my usual need to be puttering with projects outside.

Still, some outdoor work has been accomplished. For example, yesterday I hauled pine needles from the woods to give the blueberry bushes their annual fix of nitrogen and protection from the cold. 

Every day, I've started up the lawnmower with its leaf-pickup bag and have scooped up, chopped up and hauled the next layer of leaves off to the woods or to one of the fields. 

The raking stage has begun with time spent each day removing piles that plant themselves along house and flower bed edges, under the manure spreader and around trees. 

Slowly but surely and happily, leaf pickup for 2014 is drawing to a close.

Those outdoor projects have happened in spurts, thanks to the wind. Therefore,  much of my time spent indoors thawing out has involved my upstairs computer and my land line telephone with its head rest and the cord that goes haywire during virtually every call. 

"Get a new cord," people will say after I fidget with the darned thing in the middle of a conversation.  I have to tell them that I've done that.  It's actually the receiver itself that has the problem.

Having the headrest while sitting at the computer and typing while on the phone is invaluable for me, so I continue to limp along with the occasional cord static in the midst of conversations. 

This week's conversations have included phone visits with some classmates with whom I have not talked for nearly 50 years. 

As I said to one of them, it's pretty hard to grab on to that concept----50 years passing and hearing that voice at the other end which sounds exactly the same as one remembers from the good ol' days at Sandpoint High School.

The other part I find difficult to grasp, but totally fascinating, is what has happened to that person during that big chunk of time since our last conversation which might have occurred in the school hallway or as we were heading out of the gymnasium into the world after our graduation. 

Ever the lover of "what's your story," I can say that I've truly been like a kid in a candy store this week, reconnecting with these people as the process of gradually tracking down each and every student from the Sandpoint High Class of 1965 has unfolded. 

In one case, a classmate has no recollection of Marianne Brown.  None.  

In fact, he told me so yesterday in a note after our conversation how much he enjoyed reviving some memories from high school, including sleeping in Mrs. Ruyle's Latin class.

". . . but I still don't remember you," he said. Of course, his first message to me when I tracked him down by telephone was, "I have two problems:  short term memory loss and long-term memory loss. 

This classmate's nonrecollection of my existence in any facet of his life is okay with me.  

I told him in a later note that he probably tried to forget me cuz I was the blabbermouth in a lot of classes-----not Mrs. Ruyle's, though.  

She asked me one day if I wanted to get up and teach the class.  I said no and never talked out of turn in Latin again. 

Twasn't that way with some teachers, and, if you're reading, Eva, I did behave pretty much in yours.  Some, however, had their hands full with me and with a few of my chatterbox friends. 

Anyway, my telephone conversations this week included Ralph who does remember that he has retired from a career with Veterans' Affairs. 

One day I visited with Ed (reportedly with the highest IQ in our class and son of George, the milkman from our childhood). Ed retired from the Navy and is mighty proud of his son with two college degrees who works for the Forest Service in the Olympic Rain Forest. 

I also giggled with Avis, a fellow horse lover who's given up riding after a beautiful Quarter Horse threw her off three years ago.  I told Avis that's what will eventually do me in with horses but that I continue to ride, armed with the proper amount of fear and caution. 

Speaking of horses, I found out that another classmate, Bob, who sounds just as vivacious as ever (I think he won that title in our class ("most's"), will soon move to Hawaii where he'll keep his Arabian endurance horses on a 6-acre piece of land ABOVE the lava flow on the Big Island.

When we were growing up, I never knew Bob's family had horses, let alone Arabians. Turns out way back when---we're talking the '50s, his family traded Arabians with the Balch family.  Our family's first Arabians also came from the Balch family. 

In this past 50 years, I also never knew that another classmate named Chad had spent his career as an elementary teacher in California.   I learned that the other day while having a nice conversation with him.  He also asked me how I liked Selle. 

Turns out his mother has 40 acres off Selle Road.  It's definitely a small world when your classmates go out into the big world but keep their homegrown ties for that long.  

I have absolutely loved this week of visiting with folks from the high school days and will continue to enjoy this quest of rounding up addresses and telephone numbers.

Most of all, it's been fun learning fascinating information about these friends,  relating to the distant past and especially in that vast window between 1965 and 2014.  

Speaking of 2014, there's a big game tonight.  ZAGS begin their season against the Hornets from Sacramento.  

I read in the morning paper that some pundits think the Bulldogs could make the Final Four this year and even one writer has predicted that they'll be cutting down the basketball net at the end of THE NCAA DANCE.

No pressure.

Should be a great game and a fun year to be a ZAGnut.  GO ZAGS!  Happy Friday.

And, thanks, Santa.  Swiss Miss will surely have a night to remember.