gifts

Living in a town next to a small, prestigious liberal arts college and being married to one of its professors affords me a myriad of amazing experiences. Most of all, it affords me the gift of friendships with diverse, cool, smart, funny, nerdy, accomplished individuals. Having attended two state universities lost in a sea of tens of thousands of students, I find myself living vicariously through the adventures of the relatively few students, faculty and staff who spend their days just down the street from my home.

Recently, I attended a reception in honor of a new friend, a visiting Pulitzer-prize winning journalist and feminist who had given a talk at the college. I had a hard time nailing Susan down to say hello and goodbye, but in the meantime I got to smother multiple other compadres with my stinky hugs. There was Kevin, who I lovingly like to call Chuck, and his wife Ann who is totally rogue, like me. I hung with two Sues and Madeleine, who were all very interested in my recent cannabis chemistry, perhaps because they’re all science chicks. Femi was there, so we finally caught up after I gave Barry The Pres a smile and a light brush on the arm. Then I bumped into Tricia who, upon seeing me, said with a sly smile, “five drops twice daily,” referring to Calvin’s dose of the oil. I pinched two fine asses belonging to Jen and Marilyn, both who seemed as pleased as I. I hugged Accra and Lorry, though didn't see Dallas, after I’d already plastered myself on Bridget, Pamela, Anne and Frank, Jen Jack, Elizabeth, Philip, Susan and Michael, who agreed in his own way when I told him that his wife Jen’s ass was fine. With one arm around his waist, I listened to Russ tell me and Ann a funny story about tattoos; we all admitted we had none of our own ... yet. Russ followed up with another humorous tidbit which, since I can't remember it, must've gotten lost in my wine. I’m sure I held Nadia’s face in my hands, but Tess and Cristle and Hadley and Elena and David and Jaed escaped all but a glance somehow.

One of the parents (who I’ll call ‘E’) and I got to talking. E warmly complimented my blog, said it meant a lot because it served as a reminder of the time when E’s child was having frequent seizures causing frequent calls to 911. This was sad news to me. E went on to say that even though their child had outgrown the epilepsy, the rampant seizures and drugs had caused developmental problems that persist. E said, in a manner more eloquent than I can do here, that it was important not to forget, important to focus on how other lives are impacted by epilepsy, on how others struggle. E denied being a warm and fuzzy person, but I know better. I stood there regarding E as the words so artfully came forth from two lips on a face not unlike mine—the face of a loving, thoughtful, empathetic human parent. I was glad for E’s revelation to me, glad for the chills E’s story sent up my arms. E said that what I had was a gift, and I hoped so much for that to be true, because a gift should be something one gives to another, not to be kept for one’s self.

Michael and I had to split the function early to get home to relieve the nurse. I made a point to thank the dining services staff, without whom we'd be parched and hungry. Once home, Calvin's nurse told us that he had had a decent night. I crawled into bed in the room next to our soundly sleeping child, thought about all of my wonderful friends at the college, thought about E, then slipped into a deep sleep, something I seem to be getting more of this week, which is a major gift in itself.

photo by Michael Kolster