The fact that September looms a scant quarter of a year away generates anxiety for the ton to be done prior to China. Learning enough Chinese to navigate. Working out an itinerary. Getting Visas. Exercise. All happening too soon; still suffering post-shock grief at loss of Judy. She was going to die. We all are. Few though are prepared for death. While I type this I am in acceptance. But just last night I snuck back to SimCity; wasted hours on FlipAnt.
Another project is bubbling up from background. One Rolando and I have talked about for years. The Sacred Heart Grammar School of San Francisco 1964 Class Reunion. Of the 30 to 50 children that attended classes 1 thru 8 we remain in contact with but a few. Yes our imprisonment in seven of the eight boxes (the eight was reassigned and thus second and eight grade presented essentially the same view of Fell street). That is the granfalloon that binds us closer than friends; closer than blood.
The property is available for lease. One of the many things I’ve learned since earnestly trying to find classmates. I have spoken with Walter as related in an earlier blog; Blast From the Past. Lindy is encouraging us to make something happen. We will. Even if it winds up being just a buffet that we can all gather at; surrounded by strangers.
Speaking with Milton reminded me of dear friend Al. Both have similar outlooks and mannerisms of speaking and thinking. I suggested to Rolando that we invite Al; he still teaches and plays drums. We could put on a show similar to the ones we use to do in that green box behind the playground.
Yet it was actually not school or learning together; being taught by Sisters or even teachers that created our unique bond. Blame the few scant hours shared on that playground. The fresh hot glazed donuts served with ice cold milk after some meaningless mass. The dance performed for family and friends after torturous months of preparation at school years end. The loves and enemies made in a racially diverse gathering. Culminating in the eight and final dance prior to our graduation. It was that cyclic and spiraling pattern carried out religiously over those eight years; which formed our union; cemented upon that playground for granfalloons.