A joy for all seasons

WHEN I THINK ABOUT adjusting to changes of season, I remember the first regular job I had after I finished college. Since both my parents were teachers, I'd lived on the academic schedule all my life—intense weeks of work followed by term breaks, and finally those wonderful summers. Even the summer jobs I'd had weren't the kind that required overtime or taking work home. Long evenings were times to kick back and relax.

Adapting to the standard working world's calendar wasn't easy, but I had some unexpected help from one of my co-workers. Georgia was several decades my senior, but she had only recently entered the work force after having raised a family and then being widowed. We often arrived at work together around 6:30 a.m., and if you'd had a choice, you would have much preferred to meet Georgia at that hour. Rain or shine, she always looked as if she'd just come from an invigorating walk on the beach. In all seasons Georgia commuted in her red Volkswagen convertible, her white hair providing a cheery frame for wind-rouged cheeks.

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