Tonight is the Friday Louisville Munch, then tomorrow is the Saturday Louisville Munch. It’s rare for me to miss either of them, and tonight will be no exception, unless something doesn’t go as planned.
The first munch I ever went to was 15 years ago this month, in Lexington, Kentucky, at a Ryan’s Steakhouse. There were, perhaps, 15 of us. A couple named Denise and Jeff ran them int he dim dark days, though not for very long. I saw Denise not that long ago and she had changed little.
She isn’t very active at all anymore. I can’t think of anyone else in this area that I met that long ago who is still active. Jim had to step down a long time ago because of work issues, then had a severe health issue. The last time I saw him was at a friend’s funeral.
Deb married her slave and now, I assume, spends her time being a mom to his two daughters and putting to use the PhD in Microbiology she earned.
John and Lis are still out there, but family life and weariness over politics and problems has, I think, weighed them down and they rarely come out anymore.
Sati contacted me out of the blue a year or so ago, now in her mid-thirties and working in a conservative job. She promised to keep in touch, but hasn’t, and I didn’t really think she would. Still nice to hear a voice from the past.
John and marsha got bored with munches and perhaps with me. You know the friends you keep saying, “We should do dinner,” and the answer is “Yes, we should,” but somehow never “Yes, how’s next Tuesday?” Eventually you stop suggesting and if they never suggest, the idea dies away.
Barbara moved away years and years ago, to Madison, Wisconsin, I think. Harold pops back up occasionally, but travels for his work, so he spends long periods of time other places. I heard the other Barbara got religion and got married, in that order. Rusty, my fireplug friend, got married and got vanilla, at least outwardly so.
David and Sheila divorced. He’s still around once in a great while, Sheila moved closer to family.
Others have been forgotten to a point that they are only names, perhaps with a vague face to attach, and vague faces with no name at all that I can pull from memory.
I suppose it’s not surprise that the constant seems to be me. That is my name, after all, Constance meaning the constant one.
Plus, if you’re not a consistent presence in your own life…