Greetful Seasonings from Marlborough!
BOOM! CRASH! What was that noise? Santa's toys being confiscated by Somalian warlords? Another student for Bush/Quayle banging his head against the wall? The covers falling off yet another copy of Madonna's book? No, something far more momentous -- another member of the class of '85 hitting the Big Three-Oh. Black balloons abound. Obnoxious birthday cards exchange hands. Democrats are in the White House. Dread! Horror! Woe!
Or should I say "whoa!", before this annual Christmas letter and sole means of communication for most of you deadbeats gets completely out of hand. It's once again that time of year when I bore everyone with the excruciating details of the last 52 weeks in Bartlettdom and simultaneously berate the lot of you for doing such a sad, sad job of keeping in touch. There would appear to be three groups of NU alumni: those that live in the Northeast, who actually do keep in touch for the most part; those that live in Chicago, whom I can usually round up when we go out there to visit; and everybody else, who might as well have fallen into a black hole and been, as Stephen Hawking says, "crushed into spaghetti".
Here in Marlborough, life proceeds at a seemingly normal pace, except once in a while one realizes how fast time is rushing past in the rest of the universe. (Gadzooks, maybe there's more to this black hole metaphor than I realized!) Mark and Beth and the cat and the house are all doing well, thank you. We pretty much stayed put this year. In July we made the Cross-Country Safari to scenic Central Illinois. I visited my 80-something first piano teacher, Mrs. Meyer, who is doing quite well in spite of having fallen over the winter and messing up her ankle. She had her cane and I had mine and it was all very silly.
Then it was on to Chicago, where we forced everyone I knew to join us for expensive meals at all my favorite restaurants. Even Nate was there, just passing through on his own C-CS. Saw Jim Andrews for the first time since '86. Everyone agreed that he looks like the guy from thirtysomething. Dined with them and Jennifer at Carmen's (the original Carmens no longer exists, so we couldn't eat at The Carmens, just A Carmens). Met Jennifer's intended and ate Persian food at Reza's. Liked both. Saw Mr. and Mrs. 'Stock and had a messa ribs at Carsons. My brother-in-law, who was present at each of these occasions, said I was well ahead of the rest of the gang in the hair department.
In September, I tried to convince many of the aforementioned Northeast alumni to head Bostonward to witness the Cats playing Boston College. Presciently, everyone declined. Everyone except Tony, who brought Jerry MacKenzie with him. For a mere 19 dollars, we saw the Hall of Fame Bowl-bound Eagles trounce the Cats 49-0. At least it was a nice day.Tony said the only thing worse would be if Dennis Green had a winning season with the Vikings. Poor Tone.
The spaghetti among you are doubtless unaware that back in March I managed to fall on an icy restaurant parking lot and fracture my hip in four places. After four hours of surgery, nine days in the hospital, eight weeks at home, and six months on crutches or a cane, I'm good as new, thanks very much. I figure if I had to have one serious accident in my life, I might as well have done it now and had it over with. Now I can relax, and the rest of you can live in fear wondering, "Who's next?"
In addition to pain and suffering (my pain and Beth's suffering), I also missed my first Chorale concert, two Bach Magnificats, one J.S., one C.P.E. But I was back in time for Barber and Bruckner in May. In June I was re-elected to the Board of Directors, and accompanied a summer sing of Mozart's C Minor Mass, my first public performance in seven years. In November we gave a boffo rendition of Berlioz's "L'Enfance du Christe," and this Saturday is the Christmas concert, where I make my greater Boston debut on hand drum in "'Twas the Night Before Christmas" and "The Little Drummer Boy". Could be the start of a whole new career.
Only five lines left! In light of recent inquiries, the answers to the three most commonly asked questions are currently "no", "no", and "who knows, maybe next year, maybe never". Certainly no peer pressure from this bunch. BOOM! There goes another one over the Three-Oh fence. I think I'm next! Hope you are well wherever you are, and that your holidays are full of copious amounts of good times and rocky road fudge. So call already! And Merry Christmas.