jumpingfish

The idea of baby steps has an intuitive obviousness about it. For years, I have loved using the term, illustrating it with examples. Preaching it to others. But practicing it was a different matter. You’re looking at a card-carrying procrastinator.

Yet to survive as a teacher, you must work efficiently. Otherwise… well otherwise you burn out and get a different job.

So today, when I have 5 minutes, I sort the jumbled mass of homework papers in the purple turn-in box. Group the papers by assignment. Bind them with paperclips color coded to class. No grading. No looking at names. No red pencils. Just get them organized. And then back to teaching the class.

I know this is something you already know. And I distinctly remember my mother giving me baby steps advice long ago. But I didn’t want to hear it, and I didn’t take it. This late in life, becoming a teacher forced it on me. 

My Procrastinators International membership card lies abandoned on the floor. I am a better person for it.

#silentsunday #aisd-new-teacher

#silentsunday #rideauriver #ottawa

My brother likes music continuously playing in every room. I often turn it off when we leave. My brother runs his dogs for miles sometimes twice a day. I walk ours around the block in the morning before it gets hot. My brother organizes swims across the lake. I paddle. My brother sets up tents in giddy anticipation of the arrival of his adult children. I am oblivious while mine panics when he realizes he won’t have a place to sleep. My brother lugs buckets of soapy water into the woods to scrub every surface of the outhouse. I sit in there gazing at the spider-discarded pile of dead flies and make a mental note to bring a whisk broom next time, which I never do. My brother celebrates our grandfather’s antique wooden tent stakes that held up the Army tent when we were very young. I pound in shiny aluminum stakes with a shiny sledge. My brother makes joyful music by pounding on a cardboard box as he sings the Wabash Cannonball. I used to sing in the shower. My brother never stops. I struggle to start.

The joys of my brother are many. His days are filled with multitudes, the likes of which I never quite understand. But he is the yang to my yin. I cannot imagine a world without him in it.

1. Five Days / Four Nights

Returning solo to Texas from Michigan was a five day affair. I had the teardrop behind me. I knew that I didn’t want to drive over 60 and so planned to avoid Interstates entirely. (Don’t look at me like that! The Fair and Industrious Trudy is completely onboard with this style of traveling. So it’s not like I went off the deep end when I was driving on my own. I have her endorsement on this, so what else do I need?) Finally, I was eager to squeeze out as many cool-ish days as I could before returning to the heat, and had plenty of time. So it was a five day (four night) affair. 

• From Michigan to a campground in the Hoosier National Forest in Indiana.
• From there across Illinois to somewhere in the Mark Twain National Forest in Missouri.
• From there to a campsite on Lake Dardanelle in Arkansas.
• From there to a campsite on the eastern shore of the lake in Lake O’ The Pines in Texas.
• … and then the final leg drive home.

That’s five full days of driving with four nights at reserved campsites along the way.

2. Hard Work

But here’s the thing of it.

Driving solo as pilot and navigator is hard work. Even going slowly, it’s difficult.

There’s making sure you know where you’re going, of course. But your route is full of tricky turns not shown in your paper atlas. And there are changes in road numbering, or non-standard signage making it seem so. And of course you need a customized, super detailed map of the last few miles to the campsite (which you prepared many days ago, right?). Because in most cases, you have no cell service, so your phone can’t guide you. And the left and right turns down oddly-named or oddly-numbered local roads certainly won’t show up in that atlas. 

And it doesn’t help that you’ve chosen to drive side roads to the side roads. Slow is beautiful, yes. But slow is also… slow, which means that you’re driving most of the day. Of course, that’s the whole point of the exercise, right? Slow down. Smell the roses. With all great driving efforts there comes rose fragrance. Or something like that.

Still, it’s hard work.

3. Eat + Sleep

And then here’s another thing of it.

Upon arriving at the campsite after a full day of driving, all you can think of is eating and sleeping. No exploring. No hiking. No swimming at the beach. Just eat and sleep. (Maybe a shower in between, depending on the campground.)

After the hours of navigating-driving, I would pull into the campground relieved to have arrived without any wrong turns, relieved to have arrived before sunset (not relishing the prospect of backing up a trailer by myself in the dark). And I would proceed to

• secure the trailer,
• cook and eat a meal,
• sit for a few moments to enjoy the breeze or the view or the swarming mosquitos, and then
• go to bed as soon as I could. (“Mommy, why is that man over there going to bed already?”)

I found myself looking at my watch, asking myself, “Is it ok for me to lie down now?” 

4. A Report

So… here is my report.

Traveling like this is a lot of work. You drive all day. When you arrive at your next campground, all you think about is eating and then sleeping.  And then you do it another day. And another. And another and another. Hours blend into hours. Days into days. Campgrounds into campgrounds. Looking back, I’m doing well if I can name each night’s campground, let alone picture them.

Wait. Here I am, rambling on about how hard it was, and how hungry and tired I was, how I can’t picture the places I camped at. And you’re wondering, “Dude. Maybe fly next time?”

No. That’s not the point I’m trying to make. My report is this:

Everything I said above notwithstanding, after a trip like this, your soul is deeply refreshed. At least mine is.

Now… unpack the trailer…