I don’t know whether time files or not; but it undoubtedly passes.
If I had a head for physics I might be more able to accept Professor Stephen Hawking’s insistence that Time is a series of disparate events, not necessarily connected and by no means travelling in a straight line.
However, I am more interested in Stephen Hawking’s extraordinary courage and determination in the face of seemingly insurmountable adversity; his persistence, his brilliance, his service to humanity when he could so easily just curl up and feel sorry for himself, especially in the extreme stages of his motor neurone disease. His actual ideas are beyond me.
Be that as it may, when it comes time for a school reunion, that block of Time that held my school years does seem to be something of a disparate event, and the events that join it to the present seem to melt away when all those familiar names come up again as a group.
I went to a boarding school, a dedicated boarding school. As such, we young women were incarcerated for long periods of time and with very little contact with the outside world. The sistership we forged (for better or for worse) seems to be a living thing. One would hardly think that a mere 4 or 5 or 6 years spent in close quarters at boarding school, and such a long time ago, would create such bonds. But it undoubtedly did.
This weekend (and by the time this blog is put ‘up’ by my wonderful virtual assistant Lyn, it will be a case of ‘last weekend’) 50 or so of us are to meet up, to celebrate, commiserate, compare and communicate as middle-aged women, many years having passed by.
Many of us (the Queensland contingent, largely) have lived our lives to a very large extent in parallel. We have done births, deaths, marriages, divorces and re-marriages en-bloc. We have loved as sisters, fought as sisters – swirling in and out of closeness like a heaving sea. This weekend we reconnect with the larger group and compare notes. There will be more to be said about THAT, no doubt!
1970 REUNION – September 2010
We’re gathered here today beneath these old familiar walls
To stir a soup of memories of our time within these halls
To recollect the days when in our bloomers and our girdles
We had our hours of glory on the highjump and the hurdles.
We have this thing in common whether single, mums or wives –
We shared our childhood years here ere we went to live our lives
We dwelt upon this campus in a metamorphic huddle
Before they cast us out into the ocean from this puddle.