The Sound of a Closing Door

"How are you feeling?" I asked my former colleague, Deisy, on the morning of the last day of school. I was there subbing, and she was in her usual spot in the lobby, ready to dispense tardy passes to any laggard students. 

I had known her for nearly 30 years, and I also knew she was retiring. This was her very last day on the job.

She smiled ruefully. "I feel a little sad," she confessed. "Everyone here gave me a nice party and gifts, and I couldn't finish my thank-you notes because I kept crying."

"I know," I told her. "And everyone expects you to be so happy, right?"

Her eyes widened. "I think you're the only one who understands," she said. 

"Give yourself a lot of grace," I advised her. "As much of a privilege as it is, retirement is a huge adjustment."

We were both a little choked up. 

"Thank you," she said.

"You're welcome!" I laughed. "And look at me! Obviously, you can always come back."

Berry Picking

When I read this prompt, my first thought was to go berry picking, something I haven't done in decades. Blueberries, a fruit we picked gallons of on our way home from the shore during my childhood summers, are in season at local pick-your-own farms, but in this case, "local" doesn't really translate to "nearby." 

Plus, I had promised to help my friend Mary and Heidi today pack up their classrooms for retirement and relocation, respectively. Still, returning home at around 3:30, that hankering to pick some berries was strong, and I knew today would be the most pleasant for a while, with that heat dome approaching. It occurred to me that there are several wineberry bushes skirting the woods on our property, and I know they ripen in late June. 

So I grabbed an empty pint container saved from the farmers market and walked to the edge of the complex, following the woods around and up the big hill until I found a patch of berries in the sun. The direct sunlight had ripened several berries ahead of the ones a little lower on the hill, and I was able to pick about half a pint. They didn't really make it home, though, because I ran into a few neighbors on my way back, and I was eager to share my foraged goodies. 

That part of the experience was predictable, though, because it seemed like we usually ate as many blueberries as we picked when we were kids, too.

Active Enough

"Do you have any ideas for meals I can make without turning on the stove?" a friend of Heidi's asked me this morning. They had just finished a morning walk with the dog.

"A few," I answered, "but what's going on? Is your a/c broken?"

"I haven't turned it on yet," she replied, and seeing my raised eyebrows, elaborated. "I just don't really like the way air conditioning feels," she shrugged. "I have my windows open and fans running. It's not that big a deal, especially since I'm at work all day."

I thought back to summers when I was a kid. We never had air conditioning, and I remembered both the pleasure of a fan blowing mild air on warm days and the misery of having to take a cool shower just so we could sleep on sweltering nights. It was all we knew.

"Do you have good cross-ventilation?" I asked. "Because these places," I gestured around the living room, "were built to be air-conditioned. I love to have them open, but we do not have very good airflow from our windows."

"It's not bad," she said. "But this is Virginia, and a heat dome is coming, so I'm going to turn my a/c on tomorrow."

Later, when we stepped outside to see her off, I looked up at our second-story windows and saw the condensation on them. The close, warm air felt good on my refrigerated skin, but I looked at my watch and saw that the temperature had already reached 87. I may have missed my opportunity for vigorous activity, but sitting in a lawn chair on the deck with a tall glass of iced tea and spending some time reading and writing seemed like a great idea.

Record Setting

I didn't think twice about saying yes when a friend asked me to sub on the last day of school. I knew it would be an early release anchor day, so I would have about 23 minutes with each class. Plus, they were the science classes I had spent four weeks with when she was out for surgery.

Even so, as the day approached, I began to question my decision. She had told me I could do whatever I wanted, but the last day of school is, well, the last day of school, and there's always a chance of shenanigans.

As it turned out? I needn't have worried. The relationship I had forged with the kids held, despite not having seen them in a few weeks. And the activity I chose, trying to beat the world record for stacking M&Ms (it's seven), along with an optional Kahoot about the history of the candy, was just right for the time we had. Behind our closed door, kids were calm and engaged, despite whatever chaos was outside.

A Promise for the Future and a Blessing for Today

"This is the first time I've ever been to this," I said to an assistant principal as I entered the gym for eighth-grade promotion.

"Right," she nodded, "because you were always in sixth grade."

"A couple of former students asked me to come," I told her, "and since I could? Here I am!"

"You should sit with the teachers," she motioned. "There are open seats right there." 

I took the last seat in the back row. I was at an angle to the stage, but within full view of a jumbo screen. Best of all? I could see all the kids sitting in neat rows, waiting to be promoted. When it came time for them to file up to get their certificates, every student walked by, less than ten feet from me.  My heart swelled with pride and hope as I remembered the children they had been when I met them nearly three years ago and marveled at how much they had grown.

And I was so glad I had come.

A Regular Dale Carnegie

I spent my day volunteering at the end-of-the-year field day for my former sixth-grade team. Because of my stint as a science sub, I knew most of the kids, and as it turned out, the few I didn't weren't hard to remember. One such student was a guy named Nicholas, whom I first encountered sitting alone at a picnic table. "Are you in trouble?" I asked. "Is that why you're here?"

He shrugged, and I introduced myself. "I used to be a teacher here," I told him. "Who did you have for English this year?" I nodded when he told me. "So, what was your favorite class?"

"PE," he answered predictably.

"Great class!" I agreed. "What about your favorite core class?" 

"English," he said.

"My old subject!" I said. "We have that in common!"

From there, we chatted about elementary schools he had attended (3 in 4 years), when his family came to the US from Bolivia (just 5 years before), what he missed most about his home (family, of course), and his favorite Bolivian restaurant in town. "Have the carne asada!" he advised. By the time the teacher let him off the hook for goofing off, we were fast friends. 

And it paid off, too, because I crossed paths with him several times over the course of the day, and even if he wasn't on his best behavior at that moment, he was soon after.

Root, Root, Root

A cold and rainy Sunday might not be anyone's preference. But to be honest, we've been so busy lately that, with plans to go to the baseball game today, it has been a blessing not to have to worry about the garden. Sure, there will be weeds when I finally make it up there, but that's an easy fix, and hopefully all my plants are thriving in the cool, damp weather.

Plus? It wasn't too hot at the game, and we had a fun time in our free Hawaiian shirts, even if the home team lost.