It is the end of August, and we shouldn’t be in school. The mill-levy funding for “air conditioning” was really, and literally, some Big Ass Fans put in some classrooms. Not mine. It is ninety degrees, 5280 feet, and we have the relentless Denver sun bearing down on every moment of every day.
So on the first school year Saturday of summer, I did not go into my classroom to subject myself to that torture for a sixth day. Instead I relished the fact that I am so. Lucky. My house has six recliners in the living room, all of them surrounded by vents, and more importantly, air conditioning.
I spent five hours grading ninety-three essays from three, yes, count ’em, three, classes.
My day is not about essays. It is not about me figuring out how to “track this data” on Schoology without these horrific baseline assessments affecting their grades (factor: 0.00, if anyone needs to know). It is not about my three girls going to the pool with the neighbors all afternoon, or the attempted long walk I cut short with the miniature dog we’re dogsitting, whose breath grew short in less than a mile and whose poor little chunky body had to rest in a freshly-watered lawn before she could go on.
My day is about tomorrow, when we will rise early, pack our lunches, and head to the mountains, five Girl Scouts and a world of heat, and papers, trailing behind us. We will eat s’mores and shop at the mini Girl Scout store and see what life was like a hundred years ago on the Girl Scouts of Colorado’s hundredth anniversary. We will have blue skies and peaks and rivers and cool mountain air.
We will not have Big Ass Fans. Only the accomplishments of this Saturday, turned to Sunday, and a higher altitude. A higher attitude for school starting in August.
And, perhaps, a bit of a mountain breeze.