V. and S. and Assassination

Various and sundry.  Went to stores in The Big City (Manahawkin) and got--well, various and sundry.  Called Mary Jo F., who lost her husband a few months ago (he and I had been in the drama club together) and we made a date for lunch next week. Betty called; I'll meet her at Applebee's for early supper after the P & P meeting today.
Made a big salad for lunch.  Trimmed, washed, sliced, and diced Swiss chard, onions, and garlic and stowed in it fridge for dinner; stirred fried it with hot dog "coins" and a little American cheese and it was tasty.
Late in the day, old school friend, Betty Mae McG. W. called.  Her present residence is an "independent" (or "assisted"; can't recall which) living facility in northern California.  She has some vision and other physical problems, so she needs to be there.  She had had a good-sized home, but is reconciled to being where she is.  We talked about the fact that I, too, will be moving from a pleasant, roomy--if not palatial--home to a small apartment.  I'm not sorry about that decision--family trumps all and I'd live in a rooming house if I had to--but I may look back on it with a little sigh.
Betty Mae recently lost her sister, who was only thirteen months older than she and they were very close.  Two husbands and a son also "preceded her in death," as the obits say.
We discussed the upcoming sixtieth class reunion for our alma mater, good ol'--or bad ol,' depending on how you look at it--Holy Spirit High School, in Atlantic City, New Jersey.  We agreed it was one of the miserable times in our lives (although it didn't seem that way from the outside).  In my case, with a few notable exceptions, I don't care to associate with my fellow grads.  Don M., for instance, is a religious fanatic and never lets one forget one is destined for hell unless one is on exactly the same cockamamie track he is.  Many of the women, conservative, righteous, soulfully Catholic, and yearning for the old days when they wore pointy bras and the colored knew their place, are such crashing bores it's a chore to interact with them. Will I go?  Dunno, as I seem to have misplaced the invitation, sent--of course, why would anyone think otherwise?--via snail mail.  Betty Mae wants me to report back on it, so maybe I'll ask Betty for the address.
Maybe?  Who am I kidding?  The day may come when I'm able to resist such an occasion, but it ain't here yet.  Sure, sure, I'll go and then kick myself, maybe.  
WIDER: I don't know why I continue to be so shocked and disheartened by items like the following.  I must remember to keep repeating, "this is the way it is, this is the new normal, this is the way it's supposed to be, now just ignore it and shut up."
http://www.emptywheel.net/