Our weekend: No. III: The Reunion
9:23 a.m.
Finally we get to the raison d��tre for making this whirlwind trip, namely the 150th anniversary reunion of Hubby�s old highschool. There was an assembly in the auditorium of the school on Saturday afternoon which was hosted by an alumnus from the class of �48 who proved to be very witty and entertaining, full of jokes about aging, etc., and music was provided by the school band augmented by returning players (lots of gray hairs in the bunch) and a choir put together also of alumni (which was terrible). Three trumpet soloists came on stage to play Bugler�s Holiday and one of them I had had a one-night stand with in 1979 when I was all of 22 years old and he was 44. That makes him close to 70 now. This man is extremely famous, having been one of the founding members of one of Canada�s premiere brass ensembles. He left that group seven years ago and has been performing as a soloist. He�s still an incredible musician. After the assembly I had an opportunity to approach him, and said, �I don�t know if you remember me, but we had a �moment� about 25 years ago.� I could see his eyebrows quirk, as though he knew he knew me from somewhere but just couldn�t place me. Anyway, he had forgotten my name (which was prominently displayed on my nametag) but remembered me. How flattering! I introduced him to Hubby, who was thrilled to meet this trumpet legend.
I also met up with one of my roommates from my first year at Western, an organist/education major who graduated that year. She is now one of the music teachers at the highschool and is married to the band director. The last time I saw her I was pregnant with Little Princess and Allie was married to her first husband. She still has no children of her own, but is a grandmother courtesy of Dave. At that time her parents were dairy farmers (she tells me that her dad has gone into beef now, since none of her brothers was interested in becoming a farmer and beef is less labour-intensive than dairy) and she would bring home a 4-quart jug of unhomogenized, unpasteurised milk every week from the farm. It was the most delicious stuff I ever drank.
The dance was a different story. It was held at a community centre, in an ice rink, with a DJ who seemed to think that we were all deaf or something. We arrived late, since we had been having such a great time with our good buddies (see most recent entry) and he had already cranked up the volume quite a bit. We found a table (Hubby and I, his brother and sister-in-law, and sister and brother-in-law) that was unfortunately right next to one of the speakers. It was almost impossible to have a conversation. The DJ also played music from several different decades, and I realized quite quickly why disco deserved to die. I think I missed out on that whole phenomenon (thankfully). As the evening wore on, it got louder and louder, the bass was boosted until my bones were vibrating, and at one point I simply picked up my shawl and purse and started heading out the door. I met my brother-in-law, who was returning from the washroom, and said, �I can only take so much aural abuse. I�m leaving.�
As it was, we were the only ones with a vehicle, my niece having dropped off her parents and uncle and aunt for fear that they were already over the limit. As a result they had all been drinking copious amounts of liver-damaging substances. I was drinking bottled water. So I pulled the Outback around to the front of the building, Hubby got in the front, my two sisters-in-law got in the back, and my two brothers-in-law climbed into the stationwagon. In this very illegal and dangerous manner we drove to downtown Guelph and ended up at the Albion, a bar set in a historical building across from the ginormous Catholic church which overlooks the city. Hubby had hooked up with several old classmates while we were at the dance, and many of them were at the bar. The upstairs had been reserved for this party, and a band was already playing with a singer I was so tempted to shoot, except that would have been even more dangerous and illegal than my previous law-breaking transgression.
It was already 1 a.m. and the band started to pack up. Hubby strapped on an electric guitar and a friend of his hooked up his electric accoustic to the sound equipment, and they went at it for about an hour. During that time more beer was consumed (except by me, who absolutely froze in my previously described party dress) and a wonderful time was had by almost all. I ended up striking up a conversation with the door guy, who was really cute, about being sober in a roomful of drunks and how I really just wanted to go home thank you. He told me to tell Hubby that the door guy had offered to take me home with him if he didn�t hurry up, which was really sweet, although I knew it wasn�t a real offer.
Finally at 2 a.m. the band packed up the last of their equipment and Hubby and his friend had to call it quits. My brother-in-law had some crazy idea that I would drive them back to Cambridge in the trunk again, and I refused, citing the danger, the illegality, and the fact that I was extremely tired. They four ended up calling a cab (which probably cost a pretty penny, although they can afford it) and we left them waiting for it as we drove back to my in-laws. Walking back to the car, though, a van came around the corner and these guys in it were looking at us rather closely. I thought maybe they had been at the reunion and knew Hubby, but they were much too young for that. Suddenly Hubby said, �Hey, they�re checking you out!� I haven�t been �checked out� since before I had kids. So I called out them, �Thanks, but I�m old enough to be your mother!� What a hoot!
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