Walking up the long stone walk to Parrish Hall, the rain pelted my head and my bag and the siren went off for the fire station and I remembered a man, a student volunteer fire fighter, pelting down the hill faster than I had ever seen anyone run for something that mattered.

I would like to give a shout out to Jeremy West, my year, a man I met for the first time that day walking up the hill in the rain. It's a small school, but if you weren't in the same major or dorm or self-selecting dining room, you could go all four years never talking to those other people. Jeremy and I talked like it was orientation and we were laying the foundation for the friends we would have for life. We talked about whom we had loved and why it hadn't worked. We talked about what we did and did not get from our education. We talked about the excitement and fear of seeing people we hadn't seen for twenty-five years. And even though we didn't know each other, we knew each other's cultural references, we knew each other's friends. We knew tons.

And that's how it went all week-end. I connected with my best friends. I connected with my next circle out, and I connected with people I had never met before from my class, those fabulous dancers from '98, the hilarious '11's who might be moving to Seattle, the '63's who let me lead them at the swing dance.

I did not fret over the huge blemish on chin. I did not fret over not recognizing people who recognized me or being greeted very excitedly by a man whom I remember flirting with the first week of college and him keeping me at arm's length after that. I did not fret over not having a full-time job in an amazing field that saves the world.

About those people I didn't recognize, it was kind of fascinating. Some of them I didn't recognize either their name or face, but as they talked, I would get a vision of them. Their body language and voice brought them back to me. It was also wild to see friends with their teen children, who sometimes looked more like the them I remembered than they did.

I would like to give a shout out to SWIL, the science fiction and fantasy club that every reunion sets up a place to meet and play cross the generations. I always knew I could go there and find my people. I played a little Dix-it, but mostly had one of those wide ranging, rip roaring, soul searching conversations that Swarthmore serves with a cherry on top. Here's looking at you Debby, Kir, Cynthia, Ruth A., and person to my right whose name I don't know.

My room was monastic. A single where I could almost stand in the middle and touch both walls. I could hear every quiet conversation in the hall, every bird in the courtyard, everyone walking across the courtyard beneath the pelting rain. It was not conducive to sleep, but I assume there is a reason for this tiny private space and common areas with couches and slate outdoor benches. I assume my small room was designed to get me out into the community, that the Quakers saw value in creating community. I certainly do.

Interestingly, I went to the Eastern State Penitentiary the next day and saw rooms only a bit smaller, though colder and with the commode in the corner. They were designed with the opposite goal--to give prisoners the quiet and privacy to be penitent. The designers thought, with the best of good will, that penitence needed quiet reflection. The guards walked in socks, and no one was allowed to talk to their neighbor. Of course, many of those men went insane.

So, what did I do at my reunion?

--danced--swing in the afternoon with ice cream sandwiches, pop at night in a tent with a great dj, great lights, and great cross generational getting down

--attended a lecture on why the Fed failed to predict the banking collapse. I didn't have enough background knowledge, like they didn't bother to explain what collaterized debt obligations were, but it was fascinating to see their Fed meeting transcript analysis and learn cdo's were almost never mentioned before the collapse. I did find it typically Swarthmore and annoying that most of the questions from the audience were comments not questions and did not focus on the contents of the research but on whether the researchers were even asking the right questions. Well, the annoying part was most of the commentators were self-aggrandizing and rude.

--walked in a fairy wonderland of greenery, especially nice after it finally stopped raining

--sang rounds

--attended a Beit Midrash, which I think means Torah study. Did you know that the Torah has many different names for God and each name carries different attributes--like the God of justice or the God of mercy? So, by paying attention to which God is named you can get another layer of meaning from the text. Yeah, totally cool.

--mourned Laura who died soon after the last reunion.

--held hands, hugged, hugged some more.