Do You Mind?

"How old is elderly?" I Googled this morning.

The AI bot tactfully informed me that there is no set age at which one becomes elderly, but traditionally, in the US at least, anyone over 65 could reasonably be put in that category. 

My query was in response to a headline I had seen about the tragic deaths earlier this week of "three elderly people" hiking in the Grand Canyon. Their ages? 73 (I can see that), 68, and 67. Um...

I remembered a story my mom used to tell about a time there came a knock at her door early one Saturday morning. One of her neighbors had called the police about some suspicious activity, but she was unaware of it when she answered in her pajamas and found a police officer on her front porch. "Is everything all right here?" he asked, looking over her shoulder and into the house. 

She assured him it was, and when his radio squawked, he reported the all clear. "Nobody here but an elderly woman," he told the person on the other end.

She laughed when she recounted the incident, because at 68, she felt anything but elderly. 

I sighed and extended my search. "Is it rude to call someone elderly?"

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.

Fifteen Years Later

Back when I was in my late forties, I used to think it was funny when I started receiving invitations to join AARP.  It seemed impossible that I was that old, and I felt as fine and well as ever, so AARP seemed like a humorous mistake.

My reaction was different this morning when I went to get the mail and received a large-format postcard reminding me that Medicare is only one year away and that it's time to prepare. I didn't think that was amusing at all; in fact, if I had to choose an adjective for that reality, it would be terrifying!

The Shoe Fits

"More testing?" one of my colleagues asked this morning.

"Yes, but it's the last day," I told him.

"What a joy it must be to lock up kids in the library and force them to answer questions for hours," he noted acerbically. 

"You know I love that stuff," I laughed with equal irony.

"Well," he sighed, "I guess you're just like everyone else--" He paused and shook his head sadly. "Selling out for the almighty dollar."

"Ouch!" I yelped. "That stings!" We walked silently down the hall for a moment. "But, it's kinda true," I admitted.

Shhhhh Nanigans

There was a mysterious whistle softly piercing the quiet of the library as 60 students tested late this morning. It would have been nothing except that everyone was willing to be distracted by it, including the adults in the room. So much so that an assistant principal was eventually called in to threaten the students with invalid tests and other such dreadful consequences. 

To be honest, my aging ears could only pick it up occasionally, but when I passed a rather impertinent young man whistling under his breath to the amusement of the others at his table, I pulled him aside.

"I was just trying to see if I could do a whistle," he claimed impudently. "I didn't know I could."

'Why don't you try to see if you can do math?" I suggested with a bit of a tone myself. "Since that's what we're here to find out!"

Not So Small Talk

"How did you decide you wanted to teach art?" I asked a young woman at Emily's retirement party.

"That's a complicated story!" she laughed.

"I don't mean to be nosy," I told her. "Skip that question if you like!"

"I'll give you the quick version," she answered amiably. "I studied video game design in college with a minor in Japanese. After graduation, I moved to Japan to pursue a career in games, but my entry was teaching English. I decided I liked teaching better than game design, and here I am!"

I nodded appreciatively. 

"How about you?" she asked. "Are you from this area?"

"That's a complicated story!" I laughed.

Duty Calls

I was standing in the library of my old school this morning, waiting for the next round of testees, when my phone chimed with a text notification. The screen displayed the former assistant principal's name and a message asking whether I was free to talk briefly. I was, and as I waited for her call, I looked around the room. It was practically unchanged in the decade since she retired, and I thought of all the meetings we had sat in there over the twenty years we worked together. My phone buzzed, and I smiled to hear her voice. 

The business at hand today was not educational in the least; she needed a sub for her summer bowling league and wondered if I could do it. "Yes, ma'am," I said, since after all, she was the boss.

Testy Testers

"I don't even want to take this test again!" an 8th grader scoffed as I escorted her from the retake session to the restroom.

"Why didn't you tell your parents that?" I asked neutrally. "They had to give their permission for you to do the retake."

"My parents gave permission for this?" she responded, appalled.

Soon enough, it was her turn in the restroom, and then we returned to the library. Not 10 minutes later, she raised her hand to indicate she was finished. She did not pass.

But that was part of the pattern today. A little over half of the students who were eligible for an expedited retake, based on how close they were to passing on the first go-round, passed on the second try. It was pretty clear as they worked which of them were engaged and hopeful, and which were not.

Perhaps we should make it part of the process to ask the students, in addition to their parents and teachers, if they want another chance. Otherwise, really? What's the point?

The Library of Things

A couple of months ago, I discovered "The Library of Things" on my local library's website. In addition to an alluring name, the collection's premise was also enchanting, featuring sub-collections with dolls, memory kits, nature backpacks, puzzles, games, and tools. Of course, I wanted to browse! 

Even though I didn't need a darning egg, a white noise machine, trekking poles, or a stud finder, it was comforting to know they were available if I ever did, and I also found a telescope and a metal detector, two big-ticket items I have always coveted. Oh, there was a waitlist, of course, but I added them both to my holds and promptly forgot.

Until this morning, when I received a notification that the telescope was ready for pickup. At first, I planned to walk down to the library to get my prize, but I thought better of it, uncertain about the telescope's size and weight. I was glad I drove, too, when the librarian dragged out a huge nylon bag from behind the desk when I inquired about my hold, and soon I slung the three-foot duffle over one shoulder, lugged it to the car, and headed home to set it up.

As of now, I have a nice viewing platform on the upper deck, and I am just waiting for darkness to fall. Coincidentally? This morning, we booked a house in Virginia Beach for three days, the week after school gets out. Unfortunately, my telescope is due a couple of days before that, but I'm hoping for a renewal. That or the metal detector.

Maybe both!

Silly Americans

"Have you ever taken your children to the aquarium in Atlanta?" I asked my hairstylist this morning. We were talking about her plans to visit her sister down there this summer.

"No," she replied. "Is it nice?"

"It's amazing!" I told her. "My niece and nephew are 18 and 20 now, but they have loved it all their lives."

She nodded. "We'll have to try it."

"In fact," I continued, "my nephew actually swam with the whale sharks in the big tank last month."

"Wow!" she said. "I would be much too afraid to do that!"

"He said he was afraid," I laughed, "but glad he did it."

"I'm African," she shook her head, "I would never."

I tilted my head and considered her reply. Yorda grew up in Ethiopia during a time of famine and civil war, and she often expresses her gratitude for the relative stability she has found here in the U.S. I guess maybe it is a privilege of Western society to take unnecessary risks for fun, even if they seem harmless. 

Five Little Monkeys

Now that both our cats and our dog are approaching the decade mark, there seems to be a consensus among them that all five of us belong in the same bed every night. Oh, they don't agree on territory, no, no, no; in fact, there is some competition, not always friendly. But at some point, every night, they each spend some time snoozing on the bed.

In general, it doesn't bother me. I'm a sound sleeper who contorts myself in my sleep to give the other four space. You might reasonably wonder, then, how I even know about their nocturnal habits. Well, Lucy grumbles when she is disturbed, and that does occasionally wake me, as does Heidi's yelps whenever Milo walks on her face. And just this morning, I woke up with white cat hair all over the navy tank I was wearing. Clearly, somebody (ahem, Tibby) had been cuddling up to me.

I may have to start keeping a lint roller on my nightstand.

Just a Little Something Sweet

"I don't suppose Z is here today," I said off-handedly as I passed a teacher in the hallway this morning. I had been scouring the school for a handful of elusive, test-avoidant students.

"Actually," she nodded, "he is! He's right over there." She pointed to a classroom down the hall.

I tapped on the door and walked in. "Is Z here?" I asked, and the co-teacher pointed at a young man seated to her right. "May I have him for testing?" I continued.

He was full of woe and sighs as we headed down to the testing office, but I refused to acknowledge his angst, choosing instead to engage in friendly chatter. His disposition did not improve as I set him up with a laptop and headphones and proceeded to read the directions for the test. "I can see your progress on my computer," I told him. "Let me know if you have any questions."

He worked steadily at first, but was quickly fatigued. Fortunately, it was lunch time, so I escorted him to the cafeteria. "You're going to have to have a working lunch," I said, and he nodded gloomily. "You're making good progress, though," I told him. "You're almost halfway."

What I didn't mention was that I was going to have to test him for reading tomorrow, and I was working hard to make this as painless as possible. After his second walk to the water fountain, I suggested we scour the cupboards for a cup so he could bring it back with him. There were no cups among the testing supplies, but there was some candy. 

Do your best on the test, you Smartie, read the package. "You're a smartie," I told him, "I think this must be for you!" 

That got a smile! And as he munched happily on what my brother, sister, and I used to call power pills, I broke the news to him that he would have to come back tomorrow. "Can I have more Smarties then?" he asked.

You betcha.

I'm Not Tired, You're Tired

Oh sure, I worked a ten-hour day yesterday to coordinate a staff of 75 to test 700 kids, overcoming internet outages, a visit from a state monitor, and last-minute call-outs. We even moved 100 kids to 3 locations when the session was through so that they could complete their untimed math assessment, and we got them lunch, too, all while keeping test security intact. 

And that was me in the library until 4 with the last of the last, and then down in the office setting up the makeup sessions for this morning, which I also ran single-handedly. I gamely laughed it off when the principal commented on how tired I looked around lunchtime today, and just headed down to unpack 50 bins of test materials. 

But to be honest, my proudest accomplishment over the last couple of days was calling a stranger at the central office and arranging to drop off paper tests at an unfamiliar location. This was a process I was unsure about, and of all the things, I felt most anxious about looking dumb in front of someone I didn't know. 

But? That was fine, too.

Now, to get a good night's rest—tomorrow is another day of makeups and retakes, and I don't want anyone accusing me of testing fatigue.

Shaggy Hair Story

A little more than two years ago, the stylist who had cut my hair for some time announced that she was retiring from the business. Not to worry, though, she had a referral for both Heidi and me, another skilled stylist at the same salon. We were disappointed, but eventually adapted and came to appreciate the talents of our new hairstylist. 

Then, last year, the first woman told us she was opening her own loft in partnership with the other woman she had referred us to, but she also asked if we would be interested in coming back as her clients. If that wasn't enough, a few weeks later, the two of them had a falling out, with each deciding to strike out on her own. Oof! I didn't know who should cut my hair! Heidi decided to stick with the second stylist, citing the first's unreliability, so I decided to split our business and go back to our original haircutter. 

To be honest, my every 8-12 week cut is nothing compared to Heidi's regular color and cut, but the two women continued to compete for my business. It's uncomfortable! And I haven't had my hair cut since January, both because I was fine with it growing out a little, and it was really awkward to choose one over the other. But now? I need my hair cut! 

I just don't know who to call.