Today my mom put down a deposit to get on the waiting list for an innovative retirement community under construction at South Lake Union in downtown Seattle. If all goes as expected, sometime in 2009 she'll move into Mirabella. The community, which provides all levels of care from independent condo-style living to skilled nursing in private rooms, is run by a well-regarded non-profit that created the Rogue Valley Manor in Medford, OR. My mom and I toured one of the model apartments today, and it was absolutely gorgeous.
So much for today's look into the future.
And now, for today's look into the past:
The date's been set for an unusual reunion at the high school I attended in Northern Virginia. The event is based not on graduation year, but on common interests. Students from nearly 30 graduating classes will be gathering Oct. 27 to honor one of our teachers, a rather colorful woman who taught advanced placement English and journalism, and who sponsored the school newspaper and the cheerleading squad. (It may surprise you to hear that, although I took the journalism class, I was not on the newspaper -- in part, because I'd thrown my lot in with the rabblerousers running the underground newspaper. However, I was on the JV cheerleading squad. At the same time.)
I've had some involvement with the folks organizing the reunion, and it's been fascinating to watch the generations in action. The women from the 1960s classes are very clear about email and conference calls, but are pretty much clueless about how they could have used things like Classmates and Evite to communicate. The folks from the 1970s classes are more digitally aware, but not as eager to take charge of anything. And the folks from the 1980s classes have initial energy, but don't have the patience to do the sleuthing and grunt work the 1960s organizers believe is the way to organize the event.
So be it.
At any rate, we've got a date, we've got a banquet hall, and we've got a invitation list. I've got a fabulous dress, and a plane reservation. This should be a hoot.