Yearbooks. I do ballroom dancing. Monthly, there's a dance at a house called The Conservatory, which has a 4-car ballroom.
A few months back, the dance was a Sheva Brochot, some friends from that circle having married the week before. During a lull period, the owners of the house and i were in the living room.
I'd notice a painting in the dining room, which had clear reference to my HS
, and several familiar faces in it. I asked them which had the Jefferson connection.
He raised a finger and she said, "he does". So i said, oh, me too, which year were you. "1989. First Class".
"Oh, me too. I'm Seain G, you are?"
"Um, Alex B," with a look of puzzlement, followed by a mad dash to a shelf behind the papasan chair. He produced our juniour yearbook, much to the entertainment of his wife.
Yeah, shocking how eighties it all looked, and also how very young we were.