I worry that many of you, whomever you may be, will never read this because: I haven't "blogged" in so long, and I never have pictures so that I may remain somewhat anonymous. At any rate, as I was slowly drying off on my toasty car ride home, I had the unreachable itchy feeling to put my thoughts down on digital paper, so here I am.
Today marked the end of a paltry first week of school. As many of you know, or as I am quickly finding out many of you don't know, most public schools in Utah DO NOT I repeat DO NOT have air conditioning. So all you big shots at the Legislature as you sit in your temperature-controlled offices at a staggering 72 degrees, remember that there are children all over the state who are prisoners in brick ovens attempting to learn. Stepping off the soap box. Believe it or not, an unanticipated tangent, I shall return to my original thoughts.
As I was standing in the parking lot this afternoon, chatting with a colleague, another colleague approached and asked, as if it was a question always considered, "Would you two ladies like to join me in a dip up at [the Reservoir]? We could just drive up to the dam, get out and walk in the water, clothes and all, and then turn around and drive home, dripping wet." I was flummoxed at the request. Wide-eyed, I responded, "Are you serious?" She replied, "I could not be any more serious." I, as any reasonable human being would, took her up on the offer.
It was the best thing I did all week. I am a fortunate soul in the public education sphere in that I do, in fact, have air conditioning in my classroom. Regardless, that free-spirited dip at the reservoir was delightfully refreshing all the same. The drive home was where the true reflection happened, however, and where I craved to put my thoughts into a physical form for someone, if just me, to appreciate. They went something like this:
That was amazing. I am so glad that [let's call her Jane] invited me on such an adventure. We only get to live this life once, and I am stoked that was an experience I get to take with me. I wish I would have had a camera to document that moment. That's what a journal and words are for. Words are lost on this generation. I should blog about that. No one will read it because there aren't any pictures. But don't I always tell my students that they can create pictures through words? I can do that. But it would have been better with pictures. People would at least look at the pictures. Well, now you have just gone full circle.
I know. I'm deep. For all those who are still willing to attempt a stab at imagination, this post is for you. The rest of you have already scrolled beyond this point and realized that there is nothing to see, so you have given up and moved on.
I always have considered myself to be a winter baby. I have always told myself that I much prefer the cold to the heat. My reasoning is that if you're cold you can always put on another layer, but once you're hot and naked, there's not much else you can do. My experience today has caused me to toy with the idea of being a summer baby.
There is no feeling that compares, nor words sufficient to describe, the refreshing, stinging feeling when one jumps into piercingly cold water after spending eight hours trapped in a prison/oven, a pr-oven-thank you Don Quixote- if you will. The satisfactory relief your skin experiences is like that feeling you got when you were lost as a child. You think that you will never be found and then your mother comes running around the corner. Sweet relief. It was so delightful to squish the muck between my toes as I waded into the water in my professional attire. The water was invitingly blue, but turned green as we went deeper and deeper. We floated for a while, enjoying the cool water. The satisfaction of letting go of the heat and the stress of the first days of school in one dive under the waves. It comes highly recommended. I just might make it a ritual.
