Hosted a retirement party today at our school, and while it is a lot of work, I was very happy with the results. Our retiree was enthusiastic, and I hope goes home feeling loved and celebrated for her years of service. Lots of lovely images stick in my mind: seeing old friends, collaborating with a fun group, tables of teachers that I love united to say thank you.
However, this is the image that will remain with me for a while:
All heated food was being warmed or baked in our educational kitchen on the lower level of the school building. The party was set to begin at 2:45, so we prepared everything to come out of the oven at 2:15 or so - and then we would bring the carts of food upstairs on the elevator.
My timing was terrible, I headed out the kitchen door, cart loaded, to the other end of our building where the elevator is located - a good stretch down the hall. Seconds after I left the door, a rush of sixth graders, freshly released from classes and storming towards their lockers, came straight for me. A kindly colleague took pity on me and guided my cart loaded with fried chicken, mini quiches, spanikopita and cocktail meatballs through the throng of children. Like the scene from a Monty Python movie when the guy walks in front of the cart yelling, "Bring out your dead," he yelled "Coming through, Careful now, Coming through." I was burdened by the cart and moved carefully through the "village" of our school. The young people stared and hollered, "She's got fried chicken!" and then kept moving.
Abandoned by my trusty guide, I pushed the cart off the elevator onto the second floor to relative peace and quiet. I turned the corner and headed down the main hallway towards our library (again, most of the way to the other end of the building). At this point, seventh graders were leaving their lockers and streaming toward the school's exits. Walking by, I became aware of arms playfully reaching toward the food on the cart. As if in a horror movie, the scene before me slowed and the flailing limbs reached for the quiches accompanied by high pitched screams of "Are those chicken wings?" and "Food!" While our students would never actually grab, I had visions of food disappearing off the cart, scavenged by the ravenous beasts that leave our building at 2:24. I lowered my head and shoulders in determination and manuevered the cart to the library, around hallway obstacles (of the living and breathing kind), carefully monitoring the status of the food all the while.
Later my daughter said to me, "Mom, didn't you see me waving at you? What was all of that food? You didn't even look up? We even hollered hello!"
Hmm, I was on a mission, I guess. We accomplished it.
There Once Was a Contrary Poet
6 hours ago
You certainly were on a mission if you didn't hear or see your daughter. Very cute! (Sounds like lots of great food.)
ReplyDeleteWhen you are on that kind of mission - with so many hungry 12 year olds within grabbing distance of your food - you really DO need to be focused on the end point! Good Work
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