High school reunion, a homecoming weekend

This past weekend I attended my 20th high school reunion. In my little hometown, all of the high school reunions are held on the same weekend.  For a few days every year, the town is bustling with parties and activities and feels like the Kane of our imaginations.  I would say of memory, but I think upon real examination we would find our memories of some glorious past to be a little more influenced by our wishful imaginations.

In addition to my classmates who were there,. I was able to catch up with some of my friends that still live in Kane.  They filled me in on stories about people we knew.  I resist calling it gossip, because the purpose was not to spread lies or secrets. Instead it was to keep me updated on the "news" of who was still married, and who wasn't, and some of the details in between.  Some were stories that I hoped I would, after pondering, find illuminating somehow, someday.  Some were so sordid I hope I can soon forget them. Mostly though, they were sad tales of broken lives.  And I was, of course, prevented from looking foolish asking this person or that person about their spouse.

At one point the husband of one of my friends shrugged, saying something along the lines of "what do you expect from Kane," meaning that in our small, somewhat isolated community there's nothing much new, and somehow that set Kane apart from the rest of the world. There was certainly a general agreement among our party that while the cast of characters are different, the stories themselves are basically the same as they had ever been.  But of course, these are not unique to Kane.  I brought up something from (don't groan) Country Driving. After Hessler had become close to some of the villagers in Sancha, the wife of his closest friend there opened up to him about some of the goings on there. Even in tiny Sancha with its extremely limited access to the outside world at that time, there was infidelity and betrayal. 

As I related a little from the book, I saw the looks of amused recognition spread.  My friend's husband nodded knowingly, now firmly convinced that small towns all over the world were basically the same.

Post-script: I've been reading A broom of one's own after the excellent review by Dorian (who, I must note, read the book fully and completely and my Kindle tells me I've only read halfway). In the third chapter, the author Nancy Peacock celebrates the value of gossip to a writer, referring to it as one of two things writers love more than anything else (the other is solitude). I don't know if that is true, but if there are any writers out there in need of some convincing small town gossip to write some convincing characters (Peacock's use of gossip), I would be more than happy to share, names and dates changed, of course, so it is not really gossiping.