Summer vacation is simple, there are two moving parts: the beginning and the end - with the 4th of July acting as a sort of harbinger and a wake-up call. Those long summer vacations of your memory and youth are long gone, gone the way of rotary dial telephones and rabbit ears antennae atop your old family television set. Like water through your cupped hands, it's running away even as you scoop it up. And all those things you set aside all year long to accomplish during summer vacation begin to stack up: lay sod, pressure wash, clean gutters, fix appliances, paint, trim, hammer, rake. You go at them maniacally, watching the calendar, knowing that you can't possibly get them all done. This is not restful. You have to plan restful, and steal it when you can.
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For all its charm and sophistication the one thing Europe can't yet offer the traveler is consistently high speed Wi-Fi. Downloading emails can make you feel nostalgic for the dial-up of yesteryear when you clicked "download" and then walked away from the computer the way one walks away from a washing machine after loading it.
This past summer we were staying in a small, rustic hotel outside of Lucerne, Switzerland, that catered to student travelers. The wooden stairs creaked as you climbed and the ceilings of the corridors were high and full of shadows. Lights came on automatically as you walked down the long corridors, which was nice, but I didn't hold out high hopes for Wi-Fi speed. You get a feel for these things. The room was clean, spare and utterly Swiss and, after stowing my luggage in a corner, I went about the business of checking my emails on my tablet, opening the window and gazing out on the twilit countryside while the internet was snaking its slow way towards my device. My youngest son was reading in his bed, the down comforter pulled up to his chin.
Rain was sifting down again and the air was cool enough - even in July - to be sweetened with wood-smoke. We were high enough in the Alps to be up in the weather, if that makes sense: the clouds were all around us, obscuring the peaks that surrounded our valley. I could hear but could not see the cattle as they made their way down the mountains across the valley, coming down from their afternoon pastures in the rain. They wore bells that tolled a sweet, mellow tone that inexplicably captured the very essence of nostalgia. To this day I cannot hear Swiss cowbells without mourning something lost that I can not define. Despite the rain, birds were calling their evening songs.
The email finally downloaded, an introduction to our faculty of our newest assistant principal - Ms. S. Twenty years ago she and I attended a new employee informational meeting at the high school, mandatory for new faculty and staff. What a span of time twenty years represents! My oldest son, currently on a different of floor of this very hotel, was not yet born - and now he was within a short month of leaving for college.
Ravens croaked to each other as the rain outside doubled in intensity, drumming the roof. I thought about Ms. S. and that day twenty years ago. It occurred to me that of all the people I had begun teaching with all those years ago, I was the last one left still in the classroom. Some had quit, others had gone into administration. The only one of that original group that was still in front of a classroom was me.
Sitting in that hotel room with gusts blowing the curtains about, I could not shape how I felt about that fact.
