|Wednesday, Oct. 12, 2005 || 50-stinkin'-6|
Rob and I are flying off to S@n Diego for the weekend. Three nights. Not quite three days. You see, we get there at what will be, to us, after midnight, though merely 10ish CA time, and then we leave on Sunday at 11 AM-ish, arriving back in Bawlmer at close to 8 PM.
Yes, we are flippin' crazy.
But, you see, I love that city. And we've rented a convertible. And we're going to the beach.
And after the summer and fall-thus-far I've had, I need this trip away with the man I married almost 17 years ago.
I got my hair wacked off today. Rob says I look hot. P@rker says he likes it. K@ytlin said I look old now (gee, thanks). Nath@n had no comment.
I think I like it. It's a razored, shaggy, layered look with a flip. Shorter than I've had it since the summer of '03.
I guess I'll know by the looks on my students' faces tomorrow whether I've hit a homerun or struck out on this one.
"It's Dad. Hey, listen, you're not going to believe this. Aunt Pat died."
"What? Which Aunt Pat?"
"Aunt Pat P..."
50-stinkin'-6. Isn't that too young to die?
In my mind, Aunt Pat is a blonde, 30-something, sassy, brash, partying wife and mom. My mom's best friend. Never without her glass of wine and cigarette. Sunbathing on her deck in March to jumpstart that ever-present tan. Always laughing, her blue eyes sparkling mischievously.
Cookouts. Vacations. New Year's Eve parties where we, the kids, were sent to bed, though we'd be the first to see the polaroid snapshots of the adults in their drunken silliness the next morning.
It is kind of odd how my parents became friends with Aunt Pat and Uncle Phil. Yes, friends. You see, we aren't related, but that's just what we called family friends who were much closer than plain old friends. My father was engaged to Pat about 3 years before he met my mom. They often joked that they'd have killed one another if they'd married.
They went their separate ways, Dad eventually meeting and marrying Mom, and Pat meeting a Naval Academy guy and heading out to CA.
Somehow these two unlikely couples found their way together a few years down the road after Aunt Pat and Uncle Phil's return to MD, and there aren't too many Easters and summers and other family events that I don't remember Aunt Pat, Uncle Phil, and their girls being a part of.
As I became a teenager, she'd pick me up to watch her girls. She'd give me make-up tips and tell me I was pretty. She even introduced me to one of my first boyfriends, the wanna-be-bad-boy neighbor's kid who drove his dad's Porshe through the garage.
And now she's gone. How does that happen?
As my years of high school ended, our families began to drift apart. Different interests took us all in different directions. But on the big events - weddings, funerals, graduations - they were often there. Or we were there. Or that bouquet of flowers she'd arrange with care and the card: Love Pat and Phil.
The years kept passing, and all the we-really-need-to-get-together's now seem empty and sad, because, well, we never did.
Why do we always think there's more time?
It's sort of odd, in that poignant-yet-sweet way; Aunt Pat was on my mind this week. A random thought. As I thought of our upcoming trip, I was contemplating how I'd like to renew our wedding vows on our 20th anniversary. I remembered that Aunt Pat and Uncle Phil did that. My mom said she wore her wedding dress, her girls the maids of honor.
Mom said she looked beautiful. And I imagine she did. Because even as the years ticked by and time did what it so often does to the once-young, there was still such a vitality and youth about Aunt Pat, mirth dancing behind crinkled blue eyes.
50-stinkin'-6 is just way too young.
Just a reminder - Friday, Aug. 10, 2007
Rockin' Girl Blogger - Wednesday, Jul. 18, 2007
A good end - Friday, Jun. 01, 2007
Moving on? Yes and no. - Monday, May. 07, 2007