Well, who are you? Who, Who, Who, Who?

Well, who are you? (Who are you? Who, who, who, who?)

I really wanna know (Who are you? Who, who, who, who?)

Tell me, who are you? (Who are you? Who, who, who, who?)

'Cause I really wanna know (Who are you? Who, who, who, who?)

From The Who - Who Are You

I recently attended my 35th High School Reunion. I graduated from Eau Gallie High School in Melbourne, Florida in 1980! WOW! I'm not 18 anymore!

It's amazing how going to your high school reunion can send you right back in time and make you feel 18 again. Right back to that same place and that same insecure and unsure person I was then. A little nervous to talk to the "popular" kids. What do we have in common? What is there to say? We don't travel in the same circles? Afraid to say or do something stupid that would make me seem ridiculous and haunt me for the rest of my days. Back then I spent a lot of time and energy trying to just fly under the radar. "Don't draw attention to yourself". "Don't do anything to get noticed". If I pretended to be invisible and not care about what was going on around me then there was little chance of getting my feelings hurt. I wasn't being my authentic self and I may have missed out on a few things. I am not the person who misses out on things now.

It was great to see old friends I've known since elementary school. The "girls" have turned into beautiful women and the "boys" are as handsome as ever.  I still see their young faces. In my mind I am walking home from school and my friend is teaching me to count to ten in Spanish. I get excited to walk past the cutest boy in school at his post as the crossing guard. I hurry out the door so that I don't get teased by that one boy over my "funny" name. My first "real" boyfriend (6th grade) is walking me home wheeling his 10-speed bike along side him. I don't know where he is now and he has never been to a reunion. I hope he is well. I've also lost touch with my best friend from elementary school and I feel sad about that. I was honored to attend her citizenship ceremony.  I hope she is well. I met my best friend Karen about two weeks into 7th grade. We have been friends ever since and for 41 years. She is my sister. We are family now.

I remember one boy from high school who used to annoy the heck out of me. He was funny and goofy and real. The last time I saw him was at the 20th reunion. He knew it would be his last. He died of AIDS before the next reunion. In just fifteen short years people are being saved and same sex couple can legally marry. I would love to have a good conversation with him about that and appreciate his unique personality. More so than I did in high school. As much as I worried about people judging me I was just as judgmental then. I was more concerned about how it would be perceived if I hung out with the kids who were viewed as "different" at the time. So I closed myself off from getting to know interesting people.  I am open to other people's stories now.

There were quite a few classmates that I did not recognize at this reunion. It was a big class after all and it was five years later. I "met" this really great lady for the FIRST time. Who was she? I don't remember her. She was sweet and kind and had a fascinating life story. I really liked her.  I would have liked to have known her in high school. I also spoke with a very handsome gentleman with salt and pepper hair. I don't remember him. I apologized and said "I'm really sorry but the name sounds vaguely familiar but I don't remember you? His response was "Oh, but I remember you!" What does that mean? How does he remember me? Maybe he was yanking my chain but if he knew me in high school how come I don't remember him. What makes a person memorable? How would my life have been different if I had been friends with these two intriguing people years ago? Perhaps I did not know myself well enough then to possibly be able to know anyone else. I guess I was friends with who I was supposed to be friends with at the time. I will know them and remember them now.

Thirty-five years later it doesn't matter if you were the most popular, the prettiest, the funniest, the smartest, the richest, or the poorest kid in school. Back then it seemed that it did. It defined who you were in a group. There were many different groups that existed based on who you were and what you did. You pretty much stayed within your group. My biggest regret is that I was not braver with the courage to just be myself.  I played it safe. I would have joined the volleyball team. I would have loved to work on the newspaper. I would have continued to play the oboe and stayed in the band. I would have paid more attention in Economics class. Maybe I would have tried out for a play. When I was younger I used to practice cheerleading in my front yard for hours. My dad was a coach and I used to study those high school cheerleaders intently at every game. Then I would go home and mimic every move they made. I could do cartwheels and backflips but I couldn't master a split. By the time I got to middle school I was too afraid to try out because I couldn't do that stupid split.  I lost my confidence. I played it safe for too many years. If I knew then what I know now I would have at least tried. When you don't try you fail anyway. The worst thing about fear is that it keeps you from being your true self. I am braver now.

The class of 1980 was a big class with I believe over 450 graduating students. I've been to all of my reunions. Over the years our numbers have dwindled. I missed people that I saw five and ten years ago. At the 10-year reunion most of us were newly married and had small children. Many of my classmates are grandparents now. Many of us have been divorced. Many of us have lost loved ones. Many of us have suffered illness. Many of our classmates are gone. We are all wiser now.

This passage of time has brought wonderful and powerful perspectives on life and who we are. Every reunion reenforces that more and more. We have a shared history with our classmates similar to that of our own siblings. We probably spent more time with our classmates than we did our own siblings. It feels like family and I am so thrilled that the class of 1980 is so close. Through social media it is so much easier to maintain the connections. I'm glad I know who you are. We are deeply connected now.

I'm grateful for the life I have had and honestly would not want to go back to high school or be 18 again. I can be my authentic self now and let you know the real me. The best thing about going to my high school reunion is seeing old friends, making new friends and feeling 18 again for just a little while though. I finally feel like one of the "popular" kids because at these reunions we're all in the "popular" crowd.

Rock on EGHS Commodores! Rock on Class of 1980! See you in five years!

Bloom Where You're Planted

I spent Mother's Day this year doing something I really hate! Gardening! I have many friends and family who love to garden. I don't! Some think gardening is a spiritual experience. I don't!

But after a recent trip to England where the flowers are abundant and the gardens are spectacular I decided that I needed to beautify my very small outdoor space.

My Granny Cox was an avid gardener. She had an enormous vegetable garden filled with every kind of vegetable known to man. All other available plots of earth were turned into flower beds. She loved irises the most. I used to spend the summers with her in South Carolina. One of my daily chores was to help her tend her gardens.

Granny: Take this bucket and pick some green beans for dinner.
Me: I hate picking beans because there are black widow spiders under the leaves.
Granny: Then go pick corn.
Me: The stalks are too tall and I'm too short. I'll need a ladder.
Granny: Then pick some squash.
Me: Too prickly.
Granny: Then pick blueberries.
Me: Too many bees.
Granny: Then go dig potatoes!

I tried but I never could get out of helping her. I loved the cooking part, and the eating part, and the canning part. The indoors where it's cool and I won't get dirty and sweaty part! I would wash dishes all day long if I could just get out of helping in that garden. I really hated the gardening part.

And yet, yesterday of all days, I decided to plant flowers. We got up in the morning and headed straight to Lowe's. I've wanted a hydrangea bush in the worst way for the longest time and I bought the BIGGEST hydrangea I could find. I also purchased day lilies and colorful annuals. I was ready to plant! I was excited! This would be great! I could do this. I had experience after all! Just dig a few holes and stick some flowers in them.

                                                   (Before - Weedy mess!)

The little dirt patch I had to work with is at the bottom of the steps from my front door. At most it is a three foot by four foot rectangle. Part of that space is taken up by a big grassy plant and a gas "thingy".  So my work space was not that big. I just had to keep my shovel away from that gas "thingy". I started to dig the big hole for the hydrangea first. Nothing! Why wasn't my shovel doing anything? I hammered it. I stomped on it. Nothing! If you watch the tv show "Modern Family" then you know what Claire sounds like when she yells for Phil to do something. That was me. Paul! Paul! Paul!

Me: I can't get this shovel to work. There's something BIG in the way. I think it's a big tree stump growing under the house. Why did I even come up with this idea of planting a bush. I could be sitting on the beach. I could be relaxing. And on and on and on...

Paul: Umm. Honey. That's the water pipe to our house and not a tree stump. Let me just go check and make sure there are no leaks anywhere... I'll be right back. (In his usual voice of calmness and serenity). It's going to be alright. All we have to do is move the hole for the hydrangea just two inches to the left.

Me: The instructions say to dig the hole 1 1/2 times the size of the pot. We won't have room to do that if we move the hole two inches. Why did I buy such a big hydrangea. I should have bought the smaller one. And on and on and on...

Paul: It's going to be fine. I'll dig and you just decide when the hole is big enough.

Me: Granny Cox didn't need instructions. She just knew what to do.

The hydrangea was successfully planted and Paul said I was clear to plant the rest of flowers wherever I wanted. Even on top of the water pipe. So I took my little trowel to dig little holes for the little flowers that remained. Nothing! Why isn't this trowel working?! Under the small layer of dirt there were millions of roots and rocks and sticks. Plus lots of slimy earthworms. Ugh! Gardening was not supposed to be this hard or disgusting!

Me: Paul! Paul! (My sweetheart comes running as he always does when I yell because he is wonderful and patient and kind and caring and loves me even though and especially when I am a grouch). This is too hard. What was I thinking. I should have paid more attention to my Granny. If she can see me now she is laughing her head off. I didn't learn anything from her. I don't want to plant flowers on Mother's Day. I want to hug my boys, and see my Granny again and drink mimosas with my neighbor and wear a cute floppy hat and cool Hollywood shades like my other neighbor and go on a picnic...

Paul: Then go dig potatoes...

So I sat out there and pulled out roots and sticks and rocks. And I thought about my Granny. I dug little holes. And I thought about my Granny. I gently moved the hardworking earthworms to other places where they could build a new home since I ruined theirs. And I thought about my Granny. I abused a few little flowers. And I heard my Granny say Be gentle. They're just babies. They're fragile. I gently put the baby flowers in their baby holes.

When I had planted the last little marigold I had a garden. I lovingly watered my little flowers and whispered please don't die, please grow. Watering was always my favorite garden chore at Granny's house. I would be the first in line with my hand raised high for THAT job. The nurturing and watching them grow job. The mothering job.

                                          (After - Flowers. It's a good start!)

I spent my entire Mother's Day with my Granny Cox. I thought of her and I worked on my little flower bed with her and I talked to her. I could feel her encouraging me. She stayed by my side and helped me feel less sad about missing my own little boys. It was very spiritual and I remembered...

I remembered sitting on her back porch at the picnic table and eating fried squash and cold, juicy cantaloupe and the best Kentucky runner green beans in the world. I remembered swinging on the swing surrounded by purple irises and watching the figs grow on the fig tree as I lazily took in the warm sun and sweet smells of summer. I remember using her  huge vegetable garden as the forest that the yellow brick road passed through to get to the "Emerald City" while acting out the "Wizard of Oz" with my summertime friends. I remembered playing croquet in the front yard and setting up a really tough obstacle course amongst the dogwoods and crepe myrtles. I remembered running through the sprinklers to cool off. My Granny was always there, watching over me, while lovingly caring for her plants.

My Granny has been gone for 20 years now. I miss her. What I wouldn't give to be that twelve year old little girl working side by side in the garden with her again. I would pick every bean and gladly take a few black widow spider bites. And I would never, ever complain about having to dig potatoes.

Gardening was her spiritual practice that filled her soul with happiness. I did not learn how to garden like my Granny. The most important lesson that she taught me was how to nurture and how to mother.

I love you Dorothy Mae Cox. Thanks for spending Mother's Day with me. Your grateful granddaughter and namesake - Dorothy Gaye.