Well read and intellectually fed

Amid glasses of wine placed precariously at people's feet, bowls of soup balanced on knees and almost enough seats for everyone, the first meeting of the Women Author's Bookclub commences. As the discussion moves from style to character development and on to an animated debate about what actually happened in the end, I feel a sense of gladness. Yes, this is what I had in mind.

The idea for this particular bookclub was a few years in the making. At the end of 2012 I set myself three intentions and one was that I would join a bookclub. It seemed like a good way to nurture my mind. About a year later the bookclub thing came to fruition. Having heard about a movement of people choosing to deliberately and only read books written by women, acknowledging that by default we tend to read books written by men, I decided to take the matter into my own hands. I started a women authors' bookclub!

Having never even attended a bookclub myself before, I had to google how to go about it. I wanted the group to be egalitarian in its decision making, and for everyone to take turns hosting, choosing the book, and facilitating the discussion. I wanted it to be fun, as well as intellectually stimulating. I mentioned the idea on facebook, and suddenly a whole bunch of my friends wanted to be involved, and so the Women Author's Bookclub was formed.

We've read a range of books. Some memoire, some fiction. We've covered Australia, USA, Nigeria, Kenya (briefly), Sri Lanka, Germany, England and France. We started in Australia, with our friend Chrissy Howe's "Song in the Dark" about a boy and his grandmother. The novel covered issues of drug addiction, hope and family connection. Then we read "All that I am" by Anna Funder. This followed anti-Nazi activists from Germany to London where life as political refugees is challenging to say the least. The main character reminded me of an activist I know, and her commitment led us to consider the lengths we would go to for a cause we believe in.

Next, we seemed to read a string of quite heavy books about race and/or sexual abuse. "Caleb's Crossing", by Geraldine Brooks explored life in the early settlement days of North America, through the story of the first Native American man to go to University, told from the perspective of his closest childhood friend.  Alice Walker's "The Colour Purple" took us through the life of an African American woman in the deep south, told through her letters to her sister who is in Kenya. This woman faced abuse from her step-father and husband, but eventually found a way to create a sense of family and build self-confidence in herself and the women around her. "Two or three things I know for sure" continued the theme of sexual abuse, exploring how one white woman came to navigate life after rape, while "Americanah" by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie continued the theme of race, with the story of a woman from Nigeria who came as a student to America. The thread running through this story was her relationship with her childhood sweetheart, whose life takes a very different path to hers.

"Plains of Promise" by Alexis Wright took us back to Australia, with journeys in and out of remote Aboriginal communities, in an attempt to understand an Aboriginal woman's heritage and connection to her spiritual power. For something quite different, we read "The elegance of the hedgehog" about a well educated and cynical concierge in a bourgois hotel in France. It is the arrival of a Japanese resident that changes how everybody sees one another. Our next book was Michelle de Kretzer's "Questions of Travel", which explores the parallel lives of a white Australian woman who travels around and lives in Europe and a Sri Lankan man who seeks asylum in Australia. And we ended the year with "Wild" by Cheryl Strayed, which follows a white North American woman on a journey of self discovery as she hikes her way across the Pacific Trail following the death of her mother and breakdown of her marriage. 

All of these books have been really good reads. I particularly valued the fact that I got to partake in books that I wouldn't necessarily choose for myself, although i still found them all really interesting, well written, and engaging. I did notice that women write of pain and suffering in a particularly knowing way, and I'm glad I had others to share and reflect on this experience with. So, we're yet to see if the bookclub will continue, whether it will take on a new theme, or fade away. But whatever the outcome, I am so glad we did it! I feel incredibly grateful that I had the opportunity to read those books. 

A growing concern

The other night I got asked, yet again, if "that" was a baby bump. I replied, yet again, that it wasn't, and conversation moved on to other things. As per usual, I tried to make the other person feel better about their social faux pas.

What i really wanted to do was vent about how crappy it feels when somebody asks you if you're pregnant when you're not. For me, it makes me feel fat, it puts my body on display in ways that never happens for men, plus it reminds me that I'm not pregnant. Since it seems to happen on a scarily regular basis, it's no longer something I can just laugh off.

As I reigned in the strong negative feelings, I began to consider how I should respond next time. The thing is, I do have a larger than average belly. (Apparently I have a 4 months along kindof look, which is probably why people feel safe saying something). And it's not just to do with my size. About fifteen years ago, when i was a size 8, an elderly lady stood up for me on a train, insisting that i was "in the family way". She remained upright, refusing to accept my views on the matter, so in the end I accepted the seat. It seemed the easiest way to avoid further embarassment. 

But, anyway, I realise there are two ways I can respond in future. The first is to take the approach of some plus size models who embrace their curves. They talk of body acceptance, of finding clothes that are flattering to fuller figures, and of walking through life with confidence.This is definitely a good approach, and one I would do well to take on board. I'm sure some of these plus size models would have a great one-liner response too. 

But there is a small part of me that worries that simply embracing my "condition" is the easy way out. If I am slightly overweight, wouldn't it be better to lose the weight and be healthier? So, this year I am not going on a diet per se. I will continue to seek out dresses that I enjoy wearing and that suit my figure. But I will also try to resist those chocolates and cakes, and be more disciplined in my exercise. And, I will come up with a great response for next time - something that's funny and shows respect for myself, without being too harsh to the other person. Any ideas?

Toy story

Just as I'm wondering what gift to get my nephew for Christmas, a major debate erupts on social media about the gendered marketing of children's toys. If you didn't catch it, basically Greens Senator Larissa Waters backed the No Gender December campaign, which encourages people to think critically and carefully about the types of toys they buy children. Then the Daily Telegraph published a rather alarmist article about how that means the Greens hate Barbie or Christmas or something (interestingly enough, I can no longer find that article online). Then lots of people got annoyed, having read the Daily Telegraph article, saying "I played with trucks, and I turned out okay", thinking that the campaign was a critique of dolls and trucks. The next thing we know, politicians are jumping on the bandwagon, saying boys will be boys etc. And, I have to admit, lots of the progressive journalists went crazy too, writing immature articles about the Murdoch press.

I have felt for a while that the gendered marketing of children's toys is problematic, and always try to think carefully about what to buy the children in my life. They seem to respond best to toys that are educational and that allow imagination. So I was surprised that there was such a ferocious reaction, and wondered how to respond. Then, I came across what is actually the best article I have found on the subject. I agree with the author's opinion that people have misunderstood the campaign. You see, I know girls who have Barbies and boys who have train sets. They're all great and "well adjusted" little people and their parents are lovely too. This campaign isn't about banning Barbie or trucks or trains as far as I can tell. Nor is it about blaming parents and relatives for their children's preferences. I am an avid supporter of my nephew's train collection and bought him the first set of tracks when he was a one-year-old. But I also bought him a vacuum cleaner, which, incidentally, he also loves. So there.

For me, this is more about being aware of how biased and problematic the marketing of the toy industry currently is, and what that says about society more generally. Regarding the marketing of toys, I reckon this little girl sums it up when she chucks a very controlled hissy fit in the toy shop because all the girls stuff is pink and all the boys stuff is to do with superheroes. As she articulates so beautifully, the marketing of toys is manipulative. Why have they branded all the toys along such traditional gender lines? Why shouldn't boys be allowed to buy pink princessy stuff if that's what they want? And why shouldn't girls be allowed to play with superheroes? More importantly, why arent there more female role models in the superhero range and more everyday male role models in the domestic doll range? There should be toys available to suit all children, not just those who fit into the stereotypical gender roles, and nobody should be made to feel that their choice of toy is somehow wrong. Life is pretty tough for children who are different. We shouldn't make it harder still by ONLY giving them toys that adhere to those narrow gender norms. We should buy toys that relate to the individual interests of the child, and ideally that are educational too.

Regarding society more generally, I think there is a problem in the way we "buy into" (excuse the pun) certain stereotypes and expectations to do with gender that are actually harmful. And the toys we buy are part of that culture. If boys are always given guns and other violent toys while girls are continually given submissive, domestic toys, what does that say about how we expect them to behave and the career aspirations they are allowed to have? Domestic violence is a major problem in Australia, the leading cause of death for Australian women under 45, says the article I mentioned above. And it doesn't just happen in "other" families. It is rife across the 'pretend it's not happening' families on the north shore, in upper middle bogan communities in the Shire and amongst the greenies of the inner west. And, whether we like it or not, research does indicate a link between traditional gender roles and domestic violence.

So, I bought No-no (my nephew) an elephant family puzzle this year. It's not pink or princessy and it's not to do with guns or superheroes either. You might call it gender-neutral. And it is meaningful because he loves to play with the elephant family at mum and dad's. Now he'll have a puzzle elephant family of his own. But more importantly, I will make it clear to him that he is a valuable human being regardless of the interests he chooses to pursue. And as we play together this Christmas, I will try to model for him the type of behaviour that is acceptable and respectful and establish firm boundaries around behaviour that isn't. He will know that real men can wheel prams, teach, nurse, be train drivers, work in early childhood, advocate for vulnerable people, build stuff, whatever! But that domestic violence is never okay.

Where the heart is

So, I bid at a property auction the other night. Or, to be more exact, one of my many brothers bid, and I offered helpful suggestions from the sidelines. I felt kind of like Dennis Danuto in "The Castle" when they go to the high court and he passes notes to the retired QC inscribed with gems like "would you like a glass of water?" or "bloody good work".

The place I had my eye on wasn't a castle by any stretch of the imagination. It did, however, have the advantage of location...oh, and it was right near the airport! It had a few quirks, mind you. The linen closet was so narrow that you would have to roll your towels to fit them in. The bathroom needed a good scrub, and the hot water tank had its piping exposed in the kitchen, creating a "factory" effect. It wasn't, as the auctioneer claimed, full of modern appliances...not by any stretch of the imagination. But it was a small patch of the world that I had hoped I would soon call home.

I, accompanied by a small entourage of my closest friends and relations, sat in the front row. There facing us, in their pristine suits and slicked back hair, were the real estate agents. Gliding smoothly between client and home-owner-hopefuls, offering encouraging nods to those of us they have met before, their primary concern is apparent. The promise of profit glints in their eyes. Despite my sizeable party of supporters, I felt intimidated. Beating the money-hungry vultures at their own game was not going to be easy.

But unlike the Kerrigans, I didn't win in the end. Somebody else did. There was a bit of to-ing and fro-ing between the vendor and highest bidder, as it hadn't even reached reserve. Seated beside my mum was the couple selling the property. Unsmiling and well dressed, they were clearly further along in life than those of us seeking to enter the property market. I wondered whether they remembered what buying their first place had been like. Had some older couple, unsmiling and well dressed, been firm and forced them just a little outside their comfort zone?

But eventually a price was agreed upon and the hammer came down. My groupies and I went and debriefed in the lounge area. It's just how things are with "the market", they assured me. Somebody was willing to pay more, and that dictated the final sale price. The amount I thought it was "worth" was irrelevant. And, someone added, the bubble has to burst soon, surely.

As I wandered home, without having made the biggest purchase of my life, it seemed important to stop for gelato. It's easy, I thought as I licked the mango and chocolate in equal measures, to lose sight of the important things in life. To be safe, well loved, and well fed are my top three. Everything else is a bonus. While I will probably get back on that soul-destroying capitalist horse again and hopefully end up one day with my very own patch of the world to call home, the most important investment of my life will always be the people around me, and not a great, big ....driveway.

Slippery cabbage, soft rock and slidey slippers

As I wait in line to top up credit onto my phone, a familiar sound enters my consciousness. It's the nonchalant meandering of slippered feet across the tiled floor of the "Our Telekom" shop. Everyone wears flip flops in Solomon Islands, referred to as slippers, and they make a swishy sortof sound as people casually stroll about...to the counter where they take a small piece of recycled paper on which to write their details, then cruising wistfully past the cabinet with the new smart phones in it, stopping to greet an acquaintance or two and then proceeding to the end of the queue. I realise I'm going to miss that swishy, slidey sound.

Given that this was my last trip to Solomon Islands, at least for a while, I was taking time to savour those sights, sounds and taste sensations that make a place unique. I tried cassava in coconut milk again the other night, because an Australian colleague was raving about it, but, this only served to confirm that I really don't like it. The taste is too bland and the texture too starchy for me. But there are taste sensations that I have enjoyed and will definitely miss. I like slippery cabbage (or ferns, yep like the ferns you would encounter on a bushwalk in rainforest conditions) cooked in coconut milk, which is sweet and green and delicious. I also got used to banana pancakes at the Lime Lounge, and omelette a la 2 minute noodles, a staple lunchtime meal at Red Cross cafe in Chinatown.

Banana pancakes

This visit, my colleagues had organised for us to hold our staff reflection workshop out of town at one of the community learning centres where we work. I like visiting communities. Apart from seeing what is actually happening on the ground, its also a bit like camping. You take a head torch on the midnight toilet visit, bathe in the sea or river, and tell stories into the evening. At our workshop evaluation, a few people said it was the best workshop ever, so that was a great note to end on.

Relaxing in between sessions

For my farewell, a few friends and colleagues kindly accompanied me for dinner and dancing in town. I think the Solomons might just be the only place where my preference for soft rock is shared by those who in every other respect are way cooler than me. We grooved the night away to the sounds of Elton John, Barry Manilow, Elvis Presley, Billy Joel and some pacific island artists that I was less familiar with. I also learnt a new phrase in pidgin - "fillim up buckets", which I think would loosely translate to "crying a river", used to describe what happened when we thought of no longer seeing one another every three months or so.

Farewell at Iron Bottom Sound Hotel

But eventually the evening came to an end, and the next day it was time for my flight home. The goodbye entourage was there to see me off at the airport amid hugs and smiles. Fond farewells were slightly marred by the discovery that Solomon Airlines had changed the time of the flight and was taking no responsibility for onward connections. This risk was made clear to me during my handover 3.5 years ago, and had never eventuated until now. Having carefully planned a 90 minute connection in Brisbane, I was now left with 30 minutes in which to proceed through immigration, baggage, customs, transit to domestic, go through security and board the flight. Not being one to give up, I "mentioned" the issue repeatedly to the flight attendants until they upgraded me to Business class for landing and then I raced like I've never raced before. It turns out that particular connection can't be done in 30 minutes. 45 maybe. I have to say Virgin was very good about rescheduling me onto a later flight at no extra cost, and so all was well that ended well.

Solomon Islands sunset

I know I will look back on these years of Solomons travel with fondness and nostalgia. There were many difficult meetings, sleepless nights and challenging situations, but also times when I have never laughed so hard, and moments of immense pride and gratitude. I know that the APHEDA staff and the communities they work with are incredibly inspiring and dedicated people. I look forward to seeing where their careers and life journeys take them, and hope our paths cross again in the future. Lukum iu fella moa.

Perfect match

Almost as soon as I open the email I know. Its another "Dear Aletia..." letter. Something to do with a crazy ex-girlfriend and needing space. At least this time I am granted the right of reply, and am able to wish him all the best before whatever it almost was, isn't any more, and we cease contact. He was a lovely guy, and I'm sad.

Yep, I am starting to think I have a little too much in common with unlucky-in-love Rachel from Friends and George from Seinfeld. As I accrue a collection of "meh" first dates, a few promising second dates gone just a bit wrong, and add a couple of friends turned lover turned stranger scenarios into the mix, I start to realise that at least I have some interesting stories to tell.

I was talking with a colleague the other day about how job searching is kindof like dating, except that for some very practical reasons (ie money) you don't want to be "unattached" for too long. Like dating, though, first you have to get the profile/resume right, then you go for the date/interview, and then, at least in my recent dating experience, one of you attempts the delicate art of gentle rejection and the other tries their hand, with varying levels of success, at graceful acceptance.

With these thoughts in mind, I am marvelling at how pleasant it was to have a different conclusion to my first foray into the job search process. I had completed steps one and two, and knew that I was still interested. So, it was with a little surprise and much delight that I learnt that the feeling was mutual. I was being offered the job! My new boss even confessed later on that she "knew" almost as soon as she read my application. Wow, maybe there is such as thing as a job match at first sight.

So, as I weigh up dating disappointments against employment euphoria, I can't help but feel lucky overall. We spend 8 hours a day at work, and longer if we're travelling, so it is important to feel valued and, as the Quaker advice goes, that you have taken "the path offering the greatest opportunity for the use of your gifts in the service of God and the community". I feel good about the change.

And as for dating, Quakers have some advice on that too. "In close relationships we may risk pain as well as finding joy" the advice reads. "When experiencing great happiness or great hurt we may be more open to the working of the Spirit". I agree. To be fully alive, you have to be willing to risk pain. And there have been some special and joyful moments. Even when experiencing a sad goodbye or the hurt of realising somebody you care about is just not that into you, it is still part of the beautiful and complex experience of being human, for which I am endlessly grateful.

Oh captain my captain

My favourite movie for many years was "Dead Poets' Society". Being a drama student I guess I felt I could relate to some of what the boys went through. Theatre was my mode of self expression, and I was also trying to find that balance between being brave and seizing the day, while at the same time being expected to fit in with societies norms and structures.

The film was also my first introduction to Robin Williams, and he quickly became a favourite actor of mine. I loved the passion, the integrity and the courage of his character in Dead Poet's Society - I, too, wanted to be challenged to rip out the pages of the textbook, emerse myself in poetry, express anger wholeheartedly and be encouraged to go think for myself.

In many of his roles Robin Williams seemed able to capture complex elements of the human spirit, whether it is the heartbroken yet tough-love psychologist in Good Will Hunting, desperate father in Mrs Doubtfire, or radio presenter in Good Morning Vietnam. And his comedy always had a depth to it.

The most memorable scene in Dead Poet's Society for me was the one where Robin Williams' character returns to collect a few personal items after he has been asked to leave the school quietly. He has been scapegoated as the cause of his student's suicide death and the class has gone back to using the textbook and thinking within the box. You begin to wonder whether the teacher had any impact at all. But one boy dares to stand up, to express his gratitude and sense of injustice as a small act of civil disobedience, and gradually the others follow. I am always in floods of tears at this point.

So, as I mourn the departure of a man whose life work touched so many people, I give thanks for the ways that he made us laugh, encouraged us to seize the day, and bore witnessed to the complex realities of being human. I want to stand up on my desk and address him with the respect he deserves: "Oh captain, my captain".

Evangelism: exasperating or essential?

I recently read an article about a Christian woman disciplined on 3 counts of bullying and harassment at work for religious evangelism towards a Muslim colleague. She had invited the colleague to a number of church events and lent her a book about a Muslim woman converting to Christianity.

While the whole thing will hopefully turn out to be a big misunderstanding, I can see how such behaviour might make somebody of a different faith feel uncomfortable. At high school I had a few brushes with Christian evangelism (and fundamentalism). I remember one particular bible study leader who was very friendly at first, but then advised me that I was going to hell because I didn't agree with her interpretations of scripture. Invitations back to that church were increasingly unwanted.

Now, this might seem like an odd reaction from somebody who identifies as Christian. I guess I just prefer not to be pressured into anything. I get the same uncomfortable feeling when approached by cheerful brits with clip-boards on street corners asking me whether I care about the environment (or refugees) as a hook for relieving me of funds on a monthly basis, and from earnest young socialists entreating me to buy their latest newspaper...if I genuinely care about the state of the world. Then there are the endless emails encouraging me to get involved in the next state election campaign and those people who are adamant that raw food veganism or google documents will revolutionise my life!!

And, well, the truth is that I am a bit of an evangelist myself. I think the world would be a better place if everyone shared my political and social views and I spend a fair bit of time on social media and elsewhere trying to educate the political and social  "pagans" in my life about what I consider to be "the truth". I guess that might be annoying for some people as well.

In spite of the challenges, I do think there is a place in the world for evangelism. Whether convinced and passionate about religion, the environment, human rights or politics these people are go-getters. They make things happen; raise funds, recruit members, win seats in parliament, save forests and hold oppressive regimes to account.

So, what's to be done? I think there are a few lessons in this story for the evangelist in all of us. While our enthusiasm is admirable, we can perhaps be more respectful of differences of opinion. We can learn to back off when our advances are unwanted. And, as one Quaker advice suggests, it might be wise occasionally to "think it possible that you are mistaken".

Another

I heard the news the other day
Another gentle soul
Made a devastating exit

He is added to the collection
Of young men whose lives
Are consumed by the black dog

I remember those already gone;
Artists, dreamers, wanderers
Who loved with big hearts

And i try to find a way
To be there, again, be real
When all I feel is numb

Remembering the days of the old school yard

"You alone are enough. You have nothing to prove to anyone" ~ Maya Angelou

At my 21st birthday party, I dressed as Romy from "Romy and Michelle's high school reunion". While the movie itself was not exactly cutting edge cinema, it explored a theme that resonates with most of us - mixed feelings about the prospect of facing one's high school peers a factor of ten years after graduation. In the film, Romy and Michelle go to great lengths in an attempt to prove to their former classmates just how successful and happy they now are.

A couple of decades later and I find myself dressing again for a reunion - this time my own. While I wasn't intending to pretend that I had invented post-it notes, it's only natural to worry about being put in a room full of the people one went through adolescence with. They remind us of old insecurities, habits, grievances and labels that we'd rather forget. When thinking of those years, some of the more negative memories have lingered - the emphasis on grades and all that stuff about looks and money that seems to be a focus for people on the north shore, or maybe teenagers generally. It was easy to feel stupid, ugly and poor when surrounded by an above average cohort. So at the reunion I pictured all that stuff re-surfacing and wondered how I would stack up now against a group of highly intelligent and now probably extremely successful women.

Part of our group on Yr 11 "lawn"

But then I decided that reunions don't have to be traumatic events where we re-live old insecurities. They also offer a marker of time against which to reflect on the direction our life has taken thus far. Are we where we thought we'd be? Are we happy with the person we have become? What is our own measure of success? With these questions in mind, I laid out the outfit options on the bed. As I selected an ensemble that seemed to fit the occasion, a small voice inside told me "Just be yourself and it will be fine". And it was.

As we entered the room, our year advisor, who had always been great with names, greeted me. "Aletia, you haven't changed a bit", she declared, which was a very promising start to the evening. As I sought out the people I most wanted to connect with, there were hugs and smiles, and a real sense of comraderie. Everyone, most likely, was just as apprehensive as I was, and we all began by laughing awkwardly about forgetting one another's names. It was incredible to think that we were at high school before facebook, mobile phones and email and yet all these advances had been integral to organising the evening. Basically in our day we wrote assignments by hand, and communicated via note passing by day and the telephone by night. We also seemed to have a preference for large pink lunch boxes, according to one photo that I found.

20 years on and we haven't aged a bit!!!

Apart from being really excited to catch up with members of my friendship group again after so long, it was also lovely to see old classmates and reminisce about particularly odd teachers, memorable conversations on the bus ride from St Leonards station, going to Christian camp just to meet guys and those 1980s French songs whose lyrics are still imprinted into our brains. Discovering that I have a blog fan amongst my former peers (hi Ada) was another highlight. It occurred to me that it was really the competitive system and some teachers that had dampened my memory of high school, not my fellow students. Nobody was there to judge and we were all delighted to see each other...just as we are.

I have to confess that I was intrigued by the news that Madame Pickering, who eventually succeeded in getting two of us out of her class so that her precious average didn't suffer, now serves chips on a beach somewhere up north. I picture her giving those surfies a few lessons in pronunciation! I began to wonder what became of the Latin teacher who enjoyed the pleasure of my company during many a lunchtime detention while I repeatedly re-conjugated the verb to do/make with correct spelling or came to grips with the past imperfect tense as pertaining to the life and times of Caecilius and his family.

My only regret was probably not getting around to talk to some of the girls from Drama. This was one class that crossed all the friendship boundaries and where we had to put those petty differences aside and build a sense of community for a higher cause - love of the theatre (oh, and the other motivator - fear of humiliation on stage in front of family, friends and the rest of the school). I fondly remember playing Nora in "A woman of no importance" and Envy in Dr Faustus' Seven Deadly Sins, and being regularly reminded of the benefits of
Alexander technique by one of the Ms Fitzgeralds. Drama class was what made the rest of high school bearable for me, as well as, oddly enough, Maths. For some reason I loved Algebra...

As our hostess (the girl who two decades ago was deemed most likely to organise the reunion) reminded us, we hadn't really changed all that much. Those from the debating team were now lawyers or appearing on Insight discussing our country's budget. Those who wanted to be Prime Minister were now active in politics. One girl from the nerd group (her term, not mine) was telling me that too many of her friends are predictably in actuarial work, and the party animals were getting rowdy when the night was still young.  The talkative people possibly hadn't drawn breath in twenty years and the comedians still have us rolling on the floor laughing (yep, we spelt it out in full in our day). And of course none of us have aged a bit. :)

Themed cup cakes from Vanilla Whisk

So, another decade over, and what have we done? Our motto means "toward higher things" and I think that's what we've done, in our own individual ways. People have pursued careers, started families, moved state, moved country, gotten in and out of relationships, but mostly just continued on with the business of being ourselves, which is all we can ever do. I reckon I'll go to the next reunion as well, because I want to have the opportunity in another ten years time to mark where I am at, and reflect on how my high school days shaped me into who I became. In the meantime - Ad Altiora!