One of the things I have noticed since beginning this little blog is that given the opportunity, I’d start almost everything I write with the phrase, “one of the things.” I don’t understand it; I don’t think I use the expression in everyday speech. I have never gone so far as to type it until today, either. It’s just a little warm-up exercise, I guess. I think “One of the things…” as I formulate my topic sentence the way someone else might crack his knuckles as he prepared to act.

Which reminds me of a boy I knew in high school, who used to love to tease me by cracking his knuckles (“Eeew, gross!”) when he sat next to me in Algebra. Given my math aversion, it was the highlight of the class. His name was Clint, and he was charming and funny and had a big mustache, which was fascinating to a sophomore girl like me. I had a vague, unrequited crush on him, one of many such crushes I carried for the boys who were remotely pleasant to me in those days. (I was no High School Queen, if I haven’t mentioned that- no mojo at all.)

I heard several years ago that he had died of cancer, which surprised and saddened me, and made me realize that my assumption that I would always have a chance to catch up with the friends of my youth was just an assumption. I’d like to say that the realization spurred me to finally organize that informal reunion I’d been contemplating, but it didn’t. I have, however, managed to stay in fairly good contact with my dearest friends from that time, even though there is really never enough time for that, is there?