How Could They Not?

This afternoon, a former colleague and fellow gardener offered to hook me up with some tomato seedlings the garden club had started at school. "Can you come down to Kayla's room?" she texted during my planning time at the end of the day.

"Sure!" I replied. "On the way." 

I almost added, "Mr. Golden's old room, right?" but confident in my knowledge of the building, even after a year's absence, I exited my temporary classroom and headed around the corner and down the hall. Making a left past the library, I stopped short at a closed door. The nameplate told me that this was no longer Kayla's room. 

I snapped my fingers, seeming to recall she had moved to the end of the building into the science suite, and I made a right and walked briskly in that direction. Just as I was about to investigate those rooms, my phone buzzed again.

"256" was the terse message, and a moment later, "by the teacher's lounge."

I gave it a thumbs up and spun around 180 degrees. I guess a few things have changed since I left.

Just Long Enough

My teaching this year has been compressed into four weeks, but even so, I recognize the compressed patterns of a regular school year. Tomorrow is the midpoint of my sub job, and I find myself looking forward to the end. (I actually told myself "just two more Thursdays" today, and then laughed at my lack of stamina.) 

In addition, some of the routines I've instituted, which were fun and novel for a minute, are getting stale, so I'm feeling the need to change things up a bit. As in any school year, my stint has been interrupted by testing, and the aggravation of that egregious requirement came right back. 

Next week will be my third quarter, though, and I'm hoping I can count on a day or two of enjoying that sweet spot where everyone knows the routine and things just flow. Then it's on to my last week, which will fall right in the middle of the actual fourth quarter, when the kids start falling apart. 

A veteran teacher with a solid bond to her students can usually keep things together, though, and so it's a good thing their teacher will be back! And my "summer vacation"? Will begin!

Amenities

Today is the day we get to pick up our pool passes for the summer season, which starts in less than a month. I can't wait! 

The facility, a small rectangular community pool with a diving board at the deep end, has remained unchanged in the 27 summers we have lived here. We have spent countless hours over the years swimming, treading, floating, sunning, and playing there with the kids in our lives (most of whom are all grown up now). 

The pool saw us through the summer of 2020. The community instituted an online sign-up system to limit the number of people at a time, but it was still a great place to visit with neighbors when social distancing was still a very real thing, and several acquaintances became friends that summer.

The pool is also where Heidi has taught many of our friends' and colleagues' children to swim. It's always fun to see the kids tumble out of the car, blinking in the bright sunshine, eager to run up the hill to the pool in their Crocs. They love their time in the water almost as much as they love the snacks we bring for when the lessons are finished. The way they shiver on the hot chairs, wrapped tightly in their towels, trying to dry off a little before heading home, reminds me of when my brother, sister, and I were kids at our own neighborhood pool.

At the end of the season, we open the pool to the dogs. For a couple of hours on that last Sunday evening in September, they swim, fetch, and run around the deck at top speed, and Heidi always gets our dog to jump off the diving board at least once. It is quite a spectacle, and even neighbors without dogs come up to check out the action.

Living in a condo community can involve many compromises, but having a pool makes up for almost everything.

Just 'Cause

This challenge, which specifies action in a bit of a different way than the others, pretty much gets to the crux of my retirement angst. For decades my cause has been public education, and I have been on the frontlines. Belief in the value of my vocation got me up and out of bed every morning, and although sleeping a little later has been awesome, I miss that defining purpose.

The way I see it, to fulfill this challenge I have three options: find a new cause, redefine activism for the cause(s) I already have, or start believing in unstructured me time as a valuable cause.

Hm. That narrows it down. Sort of.

Walk and Talk

The afternoon was beautiful yesterday when I took Lucy for a walk. As we wound our way along a forested path in a nearby park, we passed several pairs of walkers headed in the opposite direction. Each duo was happily engaged in conversation as they strolled, and I overheard several interesting scraps of their chatter. 

"No, it's boneless chicken breast, and you marinate and roll it up!" one person reported breathlessly.

"I told him I would," shrugged another, "but then I met another guy and changed my mind."

And I did a surreptitious double-take when I heard, "We finally finished our rabies treatment, and it wasn't as bad as they said."

As we continued, I realized it had been a while since I walked and talked with a friend, and although I didn't make that happen today? I will soon.

A Cup of Joe

I've long been a stickler about coffee. I had a grinder and a Melita pot way back when I was in college in the early 80s. It was hard to even find whole bean coffee for sale in the States back then; it would be five years before Starbucks opened anywhere outside of Seattle. 

So in those days, I brought a couple of kilos of freshly roasted coffee beans from a shop in Saudi Arabia every time I went home. Like my parents, I used a half-light, half-dark blend. I don't know where the beans were sourced, but it was probably somewhere nearby, maybe Yemen or Eastern Africa, and they roasted the beans onsite, in plain view of anyone who patronized the store. 

Since I have never owned an electric coffee maker, I've spent a lot of time waiting for the kettle to boil. I used to be a big multitasker, unloading the dishwasher and packing lunch as I waited, but this year I took my coffee making up another notch. After enjoying the coffee bean advent calendar, I started paying attention to the nuances of brewing. In addition to the ceramic burr grinder my siblings gave me for my birthday several years ago, I got an electric Stagg kettle for Christmas that rapidly boils to a precise temperature. I also bought a scale with a timer and a few different-shaped cones, as well as some various-shaped and sized filters.

Now, coffee making has my full attention as I weigh my precisely ground beans and calculate the ideal water ratio and pour time. I don't really have much downtime while the kettle is doing its part, but it's still a joy to mindfully brew each single cup in the morning.

Walking in the Rain

Over the months I've been retired, Lucy and I have established a regular walking routine, usually covering from three to four miles daily. Of course, that was all blown up recently, first by spring break in Buffalo, and then by my temporary return to teaching. But today, the first Saturday of my working month, I was determined to resume our outings despite gray skies and predicted rain. 

Lucy had a grooming appointment this morning, and we had baseball tickets for a 4 o'clock game, so the window of opportunity was slim. We set out at about 1:30; the air was cool and damp, and it felt good to be doing something that had felt stale just a couple of weeks ago. 

About a mile from home, a steady rain began. We paused for a moment or two under a young sycamore, sheltered by its canopy, but soon enough the drops filtered down and we started getting wet. There was no way out but through, but as we stepped into the storm, I realized that I didn't care.