Wednesday, May 8th marked my last day on campus with my car, and so meant I needed to empty my office. I never really moved in a lot, but there were two boxes and a large bag of things to load into my car.
I was also leaving things for colleagues: an adorable miniature LA Times newspaper dispenser that cleverly conceals business cards in its base, My black SDA coffee cups that will no longer fit in my cupboard at home went to an adjacent office; free space having filled with other cups since I brought them into the office. One of three copies of a book on creativity in management which were gifts from the theatre artists visiting to perform for Visions and Voices from Crete ten years ago.
What made it into the boxes and bags? The beautiful pink African violet in its ceramic self-watering pot, the rangy epindendrum with fragile orange pink flowers that I managed to knock off in transit to my apartment.
I got home that night, carrying the boxes and bags into my now silent sans-grandchildren condo. I sat in the dining room, and faced both physical fatigue and emotional fatigue, an emptying feeling of closure and finality. Friends have been lovely about checking in on the latter feelings. One of my favorite things to do as a young student in fourth grade was parsing out sentences with colored pencils, boxing and dissecting each of the parts of those sentences. Now, I find it difficult to parse out these more complex feelings. If I were to sit at my little wooden desk, plaid uniform and knee socks under it, I’d select the red pencil to box out the feelings about things I didn’t finish before leaving my job. Perhaps the blue pencil to box the bittersweet loss of daily contact with my colleagues and students. The green pencil with which I would enthusiastically draft the next plans for travel and joy and probably add tiny leaves on vines as decoration. As I sat there, breathing with intention to quell the melancholy, I suddenly remembered the wooden chest of tea and letters that my colleague Ann Closs-Farley had organized.
To date, I hadn’t had the time or emotional bandwidth to dive into the box but now I opened the lid and cherished the wealth of these positive outgoing messages from students, faculty and staff. I made some hibiscus tea (It’s bright red, friends!) and sipped the tea while opening the notes. It was uplifting and reassuring, like a steady stream of friends coming to my dining room to sip hisbiscus tea with me. As I read, my spirits buoyed.
On Friday, I made my way down to the campus on the Dash F bus (which is still free since the pandemic). The bus was largely empty, and all the hype about getting to campus early made my arrival at 8:30 seem like overkill. The campus was filled with celebratory families, and both our SDA ceremonies at the Bing Theatre went smoothly. I celebrated my graduation into the world with our current crop of graduating students. Unfortunately, I didn’t get pictures with everyone on Friday.
Saturday I was largely prone on my couch after an early morning reservoir walk with my brother, Don. I’d agreed to help my friend Leah with watering her plants for the month of May, and I was turning over the job for the next week while I am traveling to Florida with my Dad.
Early flight to DC on Sunday, Mother’s Day. I arrived in time to go out to dinner with Dad and Sally and my second cousin once removed, Bia. It was festive and delightful. I am enjoying my retirement. Since arriving in D.C., I’ve been out twice with my Dad to the golf course, and have been puzzling with Sally. Life is good. Tomorrow we fly to Orlando to visit with my Aunt Irene and Uncle Paul and cousin Paul. We are very excited about the trip.
lifeinthethe8tre 