Happy 70th Birthday, Dear Ruby! 🌹

 

Take a moonlit night on the banks of the Potomac, a few bottles of Boone’s Farm Strawberry Wine, our guardian angel, Jim (also procurer of the aforementioned wine), my alcoholic infused babbling tongue, and a very long walk back to our Dorm, and presto change-o, you became Ruby. 

In truth, the actual metamorphosis happened the next day.  We dragged ourselves to Jim’s part time gig at the local pizza parlor, feeling a trifle worse for the wear. Jim came to our booth and asked, “So who is this Ruby chick?” What? There was no Ruby. “Well, she,” his fingers pointing at me, “kept calling someone, Ruby.” The light dawned.  My slurred midwestern twang version of Roomie, sounded like Ruby to his Southern accent accustomed ears.  After that, you were officially, Ruby. 

Fifty one years ago was the last time we celebrated your birthday together. 

Honestly, it seems like yesterday.  You came North to be in my wedding, and a year later, I went South to return the favor.  Life was so busy, and we lost touch.  

I chose a school that was six hours away from home.  A school where I knew no one. I made a lot of friends, but the four of us – you, me, J and K – were our own Fab Four. 

I learned so much that year.

I learned that  frozen daiquiris are yummy.

I learned enough swear words to make a marine blush.  (That was mostly, J.  That girl was a swearing savant.  Although, my personal favorite, and one I would continue to use, was your “Well, F—k a red and yellow duck.”)

I learned that it takes beaucoup quarters to call a boyfriend who was spending several months in Europe.  You sold your beautiful red jacket, your clogs, your gorgeous purple dress, and I don’t know what else to Vicky, to feed the machine.  It was a good thing that W came home when he did, or goodness knows you would have been left with only your undies and your slippers!

I learned that yes, Virginia, you can squeeze a mattress through a second floor window to the ground below when Vicky and Hawaii did just that. I don’t know how they explained the missing mattress. But… Not my monkeys, not my zoo.

I learned that sometimes, having a messy closet, can actually be a good thing.  You brought that little black and white TV back for the second semester. It was strictly verboten.  Our RA, who was normally a big stickler for following the rules, agreed to overlook it when you slyly suggested that she was welcome to come down and watch her favorite soap opera. 

The problem was, we were assigned a new house mother that semester, and she was doing a surprise inspection.  I happened to leave our room to go to our wing’s bathroom and there was Miss W. with our R.A., Mary.  Mary was standing behind our new housemother, frantically doing a pantomime for my benefit.  When I got back to the room, I told you what was happening and we quickly hid the TV in my closet, which was, as usual, a disaster.

 We made it more of one, throwing clothes off hangers, grabbing more clothes out of my drawers to cover the TV, and putting some on the floor to complete, “The Look.”  We had just finished when a tapping at the door ushered in Miss W. and Mary. Oh Lord, Mary’s eyes were practically popping out of their sockets as she looked around for that TV.  Miss W. went to your closet first  She did a thorough check. Then she came to mine.  She took one look at the disaster, sniffed, and then left the room. I bet we sat there hyperventilating for a good five minutes.  I don’t remember.  Was that an expulsion offense?

I learned, thanks to your insistence, that I did not need full make-up to go to the dining hall for breakfast.  You would pace the room back and forth until I was ready.  Oh, the pressure!

I learned that forming a study group really made getting decent grades a snap.  The fact that the four of us were all El Ed majors meant we had the same courses, and often the same class.

I learned that I could easily do a 7:10 AM class if it was history.  (The professor loved my papers.) But a 11:10 Friday class in English, just interfered too much with my life.  (That professor hated my papers.)  

I learned that while the movies make it look like throwing a burning object into a waste basket easily smothers the fire, in real life that only works if the basket isn’t already full of paper. Duh!

I learned that a good friend will sit on the bathroom floor outside your stall, patiently explaining – well, never mind, no one else needs the details, but you’ll remember what I am referring to. You, dear Ruby girl, were such a good friend!

I learned that I could go somewhere I had never been; where I knew no one; and find my own tribe.

I hope your birthday is wonderful, Ruby.  You are the first of our group to hit that milestone. The rest of us will bravely follow you.  I think of you and J and K often.  I am sending you virtual hugs and good wishes on the wind.

Terry

© 17  Oct 2022, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder