Months ago I signed up for an account on classmates.com because I noticed there were a few people there who identified themselves with the elementary school I attended. Since I’m working on the history of my hometown, I thought this would be a good way to try and drum up interest in sharing memories about the school, and it may also give me a way to publicize the website I’m hoping to put together (someday…maybe) for the project. What I didn’t do was pay, and like on dating sites, it’s free to look but if you want to interact, you have to cough up some money.

Today I received an email alert that someone had left me a message on the site. It’s from the kid brother of a guy who figured prominently into a couple of my summers around the time I was 13. The guy was the paperboy, back when papers were delivered up to the houses in the afternoons. He, his brother and sister went to a private school in Lincoln, so I didn’t know him, other than to recognize him when he rode his skateboard up to the front door to collect for the paper.

My friend Lori caught site of him one day and, as was her fashion, became obsessed with him instantly. “How can I meet him? Help me meet him!”

I didn’t mix with boys, truth told. If I liked someone it was from a distance far enough away that they wouldn’t know I existed. I preferred it that way. Still do a lot of the time. It’s simple. So turning to me for a personal introduction was the definition of desperate. Trouble was my family subscribed to the newspaper and her’s didn’t. I was the only connection she had.

What I lack in courage, I’ve always made up in cunning. And that summer I managed to guide her toward not just meeting him but having a mini-romance with him.

Although Lori was anything but a shrinking violet, she could lose her nerve (and bravado) around guys so she always dragged me along, especially in those early days when she was trying to find a way to talk to him. As a result, he and I met. We never became friends but sometimes we talked on the phone about music (I think he’s the one I lost my Heart album to) and coins (he had a penny collection and I collected, well, money in any denomination that came my way, most often pennies). I was never interested in him but I did like him quite a lot. He wasn’t what I expected, and being surprised like that always makes an impression on me.

He and Lori were never a good fit, but only he and I saw that. Everything got messy the second summer and I was always in the middle of a “tell him” “tell her” match. When I’d finally had enough I told them both to call each other or not talk, period. I don’t think they ever spoke again, and I never spoke or saw him again (going to different schools made that easy, as did his giving up the paper route).

His little brother — the one who emailed me — was always in the background during those summers. I remember him as skinny, lanky and tan. He wore glasses that were a little big for his face and tended toward shyness. I probably never spoke to him. I can’t imagine he ever knew my name.

He apparently left private school and began attending the town school at some point, well after I’d moved on to junior high. After I first saw his name on Classmates months ago, I looked for him on Facebook — and yes, I admit I did THAT with the hope that his brother was a friend… with a picture (no such luck). His profile is open so I was able to view without contacting him. He seemed really interested in connecting with former classmates. I had no reason to get in touch with him, so I didn’t.

I don’t know much about classmates.com, but I don’t think it’s worth it to subscribe just to see this email. I’m not even sure it’s a real email and not some bait and switch sent by the site to entice me to join (seems like some dating sites have done that before). Mark — his name is Mark — has an email address posted in his profile. I tried reaching him that way but it bounced. So, I looked him up on Facebook — at least I think it’s him — and sent a note that way. I really hope classmates wasn’t screwing with me, otherwise this is going to be awkward with a capital kill me now.

This is the week that the project I’ve been working on for the last year and a half is is going to the printer, which means a thousand little details to check and triple check. I hoped to be extra sharp this week.

So of course I woke up in the middle of the night with a wicked sore throat. It improved after a little time in a steamy shower and hasn’t bothered me too much today, but I’m tired. I’m about to take NyQuil and go to bed.

Isn’t it always the goofy little gossipy things that usually make workdays interesting? That’s how it was for me today. I trudged down to the other end of the hallway to drop a proof off with our desktop person and then had to sit down for a moment because I had been nauseous all morning (stop it, it’s not that). There are two people in that office, and one said, “Did you hear we’ve had another theft?”

The first was a full-length mirror that was swiped off the wall of the women’s bathroom early in the summer. That one was a puzzler because it was screwed to the wall — not something someone could swipe on a grab and go. Not to mention that it was a cheap mirror, under $4 at WalMart. Why bother?

“What did they get this time?” I asked.

“The paper towel holder from the break room.” It was a rather nasty looking white plastic counter-top holder. Definitely someone’s castoff or a dollar store buy. Why in the world would anyone take that?

There were already theories, none very interesting considering we should all be creative types. The prevailing one was that someone broke it and didn’t want to admit it. “Probably the same as the mirror.”

“No,” came a voice from the other side of the cubicle wall. “The mirror wasn’t broken.” It was found in a dumpster behind a building on the other side of campus. Unfortunately, it was spotted intact half a second before a heavy box of garbage crashed onto it.

Someone new wandered in from the hallway. “Are you talking about the ghost?”

“What ghost?” the three of us wanted to know.

“Didn’t you hear XXXXXX’X story? He was working late the other night and heard footsteps going down the hall and then the metal cabinet doors where they keep extra supplies opening and closing. He went down to see who it was but no one was around.”

“A ghost wouldn’t need a mirror,” I pointed out. “Unless it felt it was being mocked for not having a reflection.”

“Ghosts don’t have reflections?”

“That’s vampires.”

“I guess the case stays open then.”

And with that all of us went back work.

The first step toward fixing the high cost of health care should be controlling doctors who schedule unnecessary appointments. If I hadn’t wanted to ask about yesterday’s incident of low blood pressure , absolutely nothing would have been accomplished at today’s appointment. I’m so disgusted with physicians, I can’t begin to tell  you.

The blood pressure thing is likely a nonissue, but I have to go back in two weeks so they can retake it. Kaching! And then I’m supposed to go back whenever their next shipment of flu vaccine arrives, but I may tell them to stuff it and take my chances.

The rest of the day was fine, but it’s all a blur. I seemed to work in circles and didn’t get much done.

An email went out to everyone in the department directing our attention to an article on using social media to build relationships with clients and further marketing goals. I’ve been following this trend for awhile, so I took a chance and sent an email about my interest up the food chain. Now it appears that I will get to do some work in this area. It’s a step in the direction I want to go in, so good for me. But, with one short email, I managed to about double my workload. Yay?

Years ago there was a craft show sponsored by a radio station that was phenomenal — huge number of vendors, a lot of unique and creative items, and a crowd that was impossible to move through without a lot of excuse me’s and a little pushing. The heyday ended a couple of years after Tammy and I started going, but it was still a good show. Today we went to what I think is the same show, although it doesn’t have a radio station sponsor, and it was dismal with a capital crafts from 1972.

Maybe it’s because there are so many craft shows now that this one doesn’t attract many vendors. I don’t know if there is a definitive show anymore, but if there is I’d like to find out about it. I’m not a huge craft sort of person, but over the years I’ve picked up some beautiful hand painted Christmas ornaments and other fun decorations. Occasionally I’ve been able to find gifts. Mostly, I like to see what people come up with to create. Or I used to, before everyone started offering the same thing, mostly various items made from cheap fleece and scroll-saw wall hangings, and this year a disturbing number of crocheted cozies and hot pads.

Tammy and I spent the money we saved  by not purchasing anything on lunch at Olive Garden. Our waiter was still on a football high. Last night the Huskers beat the Oklahoma Sooners, the team we have long considered our rival. Speaking of, shouldn’t a rivalry be something a team has in common? Nebraska fans consider Oklahoma our number one rival, while Oklahoma considers Texas theirs. And Colorado believes us to be theirs. It’s all messed up.

We raked leaves after lunch, but not for very long, or at least I didn’t last long. I kept feeling lightheaded, sometimes dizzy when I straightened up after bending over. Usually it wasn’t bad but a couple of times it was. We filled up the bags Tammy had on hand and then went to Sam’s to buy more, and while there I used the blood pressure machine in the pharmacy. I don’t know how accurate those are, but it’s what was handy. My blood pressure was pretty low. Not dangerously low but close enough that I stayed inside and laid on the couch with Cooper while Tammy finished up the front yard. I’m such a good friend.

I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow anyway so I’ll sort it out then.