That Ol' Gang of Mine

My husband (Collin) and I are retired educators.  Collin finished his teaching career as an elementary school principal, and I as a secondary English teacher.  Teaching is a profession whose members tend to move about frequently to different positions, different venues.  Over a career, most teachers will engage with many colleagues, forge many friendships, many fleeting, a few enduring.

Such has been my experience.  I'm privileged to belong to a small group of steadfast women who, for several years, have retreated twice annually to a women's cottage weekend.  The core group consists of two classroom teachers, two teacher/librarians and two school secretaries (4 currently retired). We worked in the same school 20 years ago, but maintain a bond.

Collin and I met in the 70's  while on the same staff, so we started out with a shared pool of good friends, good times.  When we married, they treated us to a riotous shower. Those pre-Mike Harris years seemed somehow to generate more fun.

 Now, years later and in another city, we had lost touch with most  of that gang, except for two couples whom we have seen occasionally.  But the electronic age has dissolved distance and time.   I found one old friend on FB and began a progressive chat.  Started talking with another friend about having a reunion.  When our 35th wedding anniversary came round last fall,  I  searched for more.  Finally, this February we held a reunion that was attended by 14.  Another 5 who were located were unable to attend, but I forwarded a group pic of the occasion and a review.

Thirty years later, sporting wrinkles, white hair and frailties,  we quickly fell into familiar patterns.  The same jokes, the same teasing and kibbitzing.  "You haven't changed a bit," said Joe, the shop teacher whose room had been next to mine.  Some architect in his infinite wisdom had placed all the "noise-makers" in the same corner of the school, and all day long Joe's machines had roared into my music  room through the vents.

 Despite the best intentions to avoid the same old kvetching about the principal we loved to hate, the subject inevitably insinuated itself.  We poured through musty yearbooks and revisited anecdotes.  Two people said they'd never forget the time I had an encounter with a kid wielding a gun, but I have no recollection of such an event!!  Either they have a synchronized false memory, or I've deteriorated even more than I'd thought.
 
The friend I found on FB who was the impetus was among those who couldn't make it.  But he did us all a good service by igniting  the original spark.