Since summer, I've reunited with 5 people whom I had not seen for a collective 61 years. Four of those reunions were on purpose. The fifth, an accidental encounter at her sister's house, made me pray for the sweet release of death.
Either hers or mine, lord. I'm not picky.
If I were to score the encounters, I'd say I finished 1-4. I eeked out my first win just last week. For the others, I concluded that I'd been right to sever things in the first place. All I seemed to accomplish was to replace our mental images of one another with more wrinkled, fatter versions.
Lesson learned: chop more, stitch less.
Crap, I forgot the Portland reunion. So it's 7 friends I had not seen for a collective 92 years. Jesus, I'm old.