Last week’s stay-cation was not a rousing success. One thing after another nibbled away at the time set aside to think and dream and relax. Not exciting things like being whisked to New York for an interview on the Today Show or a call from a publisher begging me to sign a multimillion dollar contract to write books about whatever tickles my fancy.
No, some of the nibblers were expensive things,
like getting new tires on the car after Hiram said the old ones were a bit dangerous.
Some of them were sad things,
like sitting with a friend who received devastating news.
Others were necessary things,
like grocery shopping and picking up the dry cleaning.
So here I am at the start of a new week, not feeling one whit refreshed, rejuvenated or inspired. In fact, I was tempted to pout – okay, I did pout – this weekend. But at this morning’s Community Holy Week Service, something drove the pout right out of me.
During the service, a woman stood up to sing her solo.
The person in charge of the sound system punched the button to start the accompaniment. No sound.
She tried again.
No sound.
Someone from the congregation went to consult.
No sound.
The soloist made a phone call for more instructions.
Still no sound.
Finally they gave up.
No solo.
What did the members of the congregation do while all this was going on? At first, they chuckled nervously. Then they started visiting. Soon, every pew hummed with subdued, good-natured conversation.
Wide-eyed, I watched this display of civility. Why weren’t the guys throwing spit wads and the gals passing notes while the teacher tried to resolve the technical snafu? Why weren’t the kids complaining “No fair, no fair,” when instead of watching the promised movie they read then pages in their science books? Why weren’t they passing gas and faking flu symptoms in vain attempts to be excused to go to the restroom? Why weren’t they trying to eat their teacher alive?
I remembered the hard and wonderful days of teaching elementary school,
how my students’ needs left me drained at the end of each day,
how I was too tired each evening to write the books growing inside me,
how by the end of the week, it felt like my creativity had been eaten alive,
again and
again and
again.
My stay-cation pout ended.
I left the service grateful for last week’s unmet expectations,
grateful for this week when I can write to my heart’s content,
grateful for every teacher in every classroom,
grateful for their sacrifices at the altar of our nation’s children,
grateful no one was eaten alive this morning during the technical snafu,
grateful.
