When the living is easy

"Just think," said my dad, pointing out the weeks on our oh-so-seventies kitchen-towel kitchen calendar, "you have two whole months of vacation to go."

That's the real life moment that marks the beginning of my generic, never-really-happened-quite-that-way Summer Vacation, the one where I'm some indeterminate age, riding bikes, walking to McCrory's for a candy bar, concocting a cover story for the naked Barbies in the patio drain water, walking to McCrory's for another candy bar, and alternately playing with, looking for, or ratting on my brother and his friends.

To my elementary school mind, two months seemed like forever, though I'm sure I didn't express my appreciation enough to appease the working man who actually earned his time off. Decades later, having progressed all the way to high school, I feel like nailing the calendar pages down before they flip by without me. I still may not have earned the time off, but appreciation? That I have down.

I didn't choose to be a teacher for June, July, and August, or, these days, for June and July, and in fact I don't really believe that teaching will ever be the profession it aspires or even claims to be until teachers work as many weeks a year as everybody else, no matter how long kids are in school, but that's another post. And for now, I've got time.

Time for my family and friends. Time to sit on my deck and drink something cold if regrettably non-carbonated. Time to finally get rid of the awful striped wallpaper in the bathrooms. Time to go away for a while. Time to watch half a season's worth of The Shield at once and declare it an accomplishment because cleaning the DVR of its backlog still counts as cleaning. Time to read. Time to listen to Keith and Dan. Time, eventually, and I really mean it this time, to work on the next school year so it doesn't swallow me alive.Time, even, to ride my bike.

On the last day of school, the principal announced that school would be in session in seventy-seven days. But that was the 30th, and today's already the 6th. And teachers come in a good week before students. . . man! What am I doing? Time's a wastin'. Better get to work.