Ollie, Ollie! In Come Free!

I see Congress is taking a recess.  Most working adults take vacations.  Not Congress, though.  But at least they're using the right word--"recess"--what with their playground antics and all.

Ah, but as much as I'd like to rail on Congress, I have to give those people credit.  Like teachers, they too understand the beauty of a long pause.   (An aside:  While we teachers have been harangued for years about our work schedule--which, in Lincoln Public Schools, includes about 188 contract days-- members of Congress work a mere 150 days or soa year.)  I don't know what Congressmen do in their off hours, but I'm sure they--like teachers--find a rhythm that is at once different and refreshing.

Heck, they may even get some things done on their days off.  Not me, though.

Besides, this isn't a political piece.  This is a piece about peace.  Peace of mind, to be specific.  The kind that comes from a long, fuzzied string of unscheduled days.

The problem with a weekend--even a three-day one--is that you can never quite find your rhythm.  Too often, adults seem compelled to accomplish something on a weekend, which I happen to think is a rotten idea.  While I'm a lover of lists, they can make me break out in a cold sweat when utilized on a day ending in "Saturday" or "Sunday."

Ah, but give me 60 uninterrupted days, . . . . 

Recently, the Lincoln Public Schools Communications folks asked teachers to share what they did this past summer.  It's an interesting question to pose, to be sure.  But their request was framed in such a way that it was assumed what we did was to develop professionally.

For obvious reasons,  I have not submitted a response to that question.

What would people say if they read that I played 38 games of Scrabble, took Finn on 150 walks, watched 30 "Frasier" reruns and took about 96 naps?  Oh, I know what they'd say:  "THIS is what's wrong with our school system.  We give teachers time off and PAY them for it!  And they do absolutely nothing worthwhile with that time."

Alas, for me, anyway, that's a pretty apt description.  Where I depart with these critics, though, is in their belief that nothing good comes from doing nothing worthwhile.

What if I told you that I believe with all of my heart that I am a better teacher because I don't teach year-round?  Would you believe me?  Have you spent any time with a roomful of teenagers recently?  I didn't think so.  What kind of a person would, after all?

Actually, I would, at least for 180-ish days a year.

But I can't do it without those two months between "hello" and "goodbye."  I just can't.

I need a long pause, a glorious string of unattached days that are free of schedules and bells, homework and professional development.  I need big heaps of "Jane Development" to get the job done the other nine months a year.

Frankly, I don't see how other professions do it, putting aside two weeks a year to let their people unwind.  Sure, after two weeks, I'm feeling pretty good.  But, come Week Four, I'm a veritable puddle of Buddhist bliss, existing only in the moment, even if I have no idea what that moment is.  Five weeks in and I've established my napping routine--a quick, mid-morning snooze to fortify me for "Frasier," a post-lunch lounge to shake off fresh tomatoes and hummus.  By Week Six, I can't remember the last time I've had a real weekend, and I couldn't care less.  Six weeks in and I have no interest whatsoever in time or date or day of week.  It is simply "a day."  And that is enough.

The interesting thing is that, by Week Seven, I start looking for signs of another season.  My wandering mind,  ambling along beside me as I wander through the neighborhood park, starts remembering what a football Saturday feels like.  It starts aching for the thin, long clouds of an Autumn evening, the memory of a two-blanket night in bed.

And all it takes to get me back into "work" mode is a $6 pack of Uniball Deluxe pens, my hopes and dreams tucked safely under its cellophane seal.  I am, after all, a simple person, one who requires some down time before I have to get up again.