Swimming in the Memory Lane

We ran into an acquaintance at the pool this afternoon. She is a neighbor, but to be honest, we usually only see her in summer when we all frequent the pool. "Do you have any travel plans this year?" I asked as we waited for the required 15-minute break at the end of the hour.

"Oh," she waved her hand. "No. But I could go to Oakton and back, and never remember even being there, so there's that.' She laughed wryly.

I nodded in amusement and slight confusion.

"But I'm also starting my infusion treatment," she continued. "It's every other week for 18 months, so I don't want to go far."

Again, I nodded, but I was lost.

"I don't remember if I told you or not," she added, "but I have early-stage Alzheimer's. I did the genetic testing, and I qualify for the new treatment. I'm so grateful and optimistic."

I expressed my support, and she went on. "I might tell you all this again," she laughed. "But so what?"

Blue Skies Smilin' at Me

Although the day dawned a bit gray, the first day of summer break turned out to be gorgeous: a high of 82, breezy, with plenty of sunshine by the afternoon. We went to the pool for the first time this season, and the water was pleasant and refreshing. When the guard called for the 15-minute break at the end of the hour, Heidi and I sat wrapped in towels, chatting about the future—in addition to a trip to the beach next week and other travel plans, this summer and fall bring a wedding and 2 babies to our immediate circle. Plus? On a whim, we toured a nearby house for sale yesterday afternoon, and who knows?

Anything seems possible on the first day of summer break.

A Wrap and a Roll

"When did you start this tradition?" someone asked at the table this afternoon as we enjoyed our traditional, last day of school lobster rolls.

"Tracey and Heidi did it first," Mary explained, "and then they invited me. They used to go to the movies afterward."

"We've been doing it for years," I nodded. "Maybe ten?" I looked across the table at Heidi and thought back. "I think the first year we went to see Finding Dory after lunch, right?"

She shrugged. "That sounds right."

I grabbed my phone from the center of the table and tapped the screen. "Finding Dory came out in 2016, so that must be when we started."

I put my phone down and considered the seven of us at the table, and then thought of all the folks who had joined us over the years. It is a nice tradition, indeed. 

Top Down

I closed out the school year on my consulting gig at a company lunch. All my interactions with the president, educational officer, and my fellow coaches had been virtual, so this was the first time we met in person. It was almost as awkward as it sounds, but not quite. Everyone was easy to recognize and not so difficult to chit chat with. Once the president arrived, she commanded our attention with her wrap-up report and remarks of thanks. 

I listened carefully and tried to make sense of my place in the organization. The firm was founded 3 years ago by a former school administrator and leadership coach, and the world of applying for contracts and vendor opportunities was alien to me. Less so was the notion of designing programs and curriculum, but all the women present were very focused on leadership rather than the everyday frontline classroom teacher.

Such an attitude is anathema to me, but I stayed silent on the topic. The work I did involved coaching teachers, and I expect to be offered an opportunity to continue. Despite its leadership-skewed focus, the culture of the company is nurturing and expansive, so there's a chance that I can nudge them in the direction I know would be productive and impactful.

Expert Advice

As I wheeled my cart around the corner to the seltzer aisle, I noticed a woman, perhaps fifteen years older than I am, scanning the endcap. There was something about her hair and makeup that looked vaguely familiar, and I momentarily lingered on her face, trying to place her. We made eye contact then, so I smiled as I passed. 

"I've been feeling a little faint and weak in this heat," I heard a voice behind me say, and I turned to see her closing in on me, "so my mailman told me I needed Gatorade!" she laughed. "And here I am."

"Maybe the electrolytes?" I offered.

"But my mailman!" she repeated.

"He probably spends a lot of time outdoors," I suggested.

She shrugged in amusement. "My husband is a doctor!" she informed me, and he never mentioned any such thing. "Now, where do you s'pose that Gatorade is?"

Farewell Tour

I met my friend Mary for breakfast this morning before we headed over to our old school to sign a retirement gift for a former colleague. It was a delightfully civilized morning: we enjoyed egg sandwiches, split a muffin, and talked about books before wandering over to school. 

Today was the end-of-year activities, so only the sixth grade was on campus, and the building was eerily quiet when we walked in. Our first stop was to pick up the book, sign it, and take it around for others to sign also. As Mary transcribed her message, a student challenged me to a game of Taco, Cat, Goat, Cheese, Pizza, which was a fun way to spend a few minutes. 

It was also fun to see everyone greet Mary-- she hasn't been back since she retired last June, and everyone we met was so pleased to see her. 

Upstairs, I excused myself from a conversation to drop off the book with a teacher in another room where the students were doing karaoke. Once again, I got to play while she signed, grabbing the inflatable microphone a student offered and singing along to Taylor Swift's "Romeo and Juliet". 

"Look at you!" Mary said when she found me, "doing all your favorite things at school. If it were always this fun, we never would have had to retire!"

Class of '26

I couldn't resist clicking on the recordings of the high school commencements when I happened to see them on the district website this afternoon. The kids who were graduating were in my sixth-grade class when we shut down for COVID six years ago, and, with few exceptions, I hadn't seen many of them since that day. The beauty of a recording is that I could fast-forward to the students I wanted to see, but I ended up wiling away a couple of hours watching hundreds of seniors cross three stages, just waiting for a name or a face I recognized. 

As always happens, some were so changed I would have passed them on the street without another look, but most were just slightly grown-up versions of their 11-year-old selves, perhaps a little more serious and poised. Like graduates everywhere, they seemed happy and proud, and I was glad to see that they made it through the turbulence of the last six years, even ending their school years on a pretty traditional note.

It's hard to believe, but the students entering kindergarten this fall weren't even born yet when the pandemic struck, and in another six years, almost all the kids whose schooling was directly impacted by the shutdown will have graduated or moved on from school. Something that had such a profound effect on all of us will be history to them.

Time is crazy predictable in that way.