CARRIE CLASSON (cont.)

Clay is in touch with people I haven’t seen since high school, and it was fun to hear about them. He has always had a good memory and a sharp eye for detail.

Some of our mutual friends, he told me, seemed exactly the same. Only their hair color appeared to have significantly changed. Other friends had aged more noticeably. Clay described seeing someone he’d not seen in years.

“It was like I could see the person I knew, looking out from this old person’s face,” he told me. I knew what he meant, and I wondered where I fell on the spectrum. (I didn’t ask.)

My memory is not anywhere near as good as Clay’s and that’s probably because I don’t spend a lot of time reminiscing. But visiting with Clay was a good reminder of how quickly the years are swallowed up, how much time has passed. New friends only know the person I am today. Old friends know all the previous versions of me, and sometimes that is a comfort. At other times, it’s a little scary. Sometimes I like to think that I have always been exactly as I am—right down to my hair color.

Andrew’s colonoscopy turned out well, although he has to go back in three years. I know he will forget, and it will be my responsibility to both remind him and get him there again.

“We’ll have to get together again soon,” I told Clay.

“Even before Andrew’s next colonoscopy!”

Clay agreed, and I know we will. But it’s nice to think we’ll have that to look forward to.

Till next time,

Carrie Classon is a writer and performer. She is the author of “ I’ve Been Waiting All My Life to be Middle Aged” and a syndicated columnist. Her memoir, “ Blue Yarn,” was released in 2019. Learn more at CarrieClasson. com.