July's Purpose

          July stopped me in my tracks. At first, I couldn’t understand it. I had been busy writing, submitting, and planning then, suddenly - POOF!- I didn’t seem able to do another thing. I felt done. That was ridiculous. Of course, I wasn’t done. I may never be completely done. I, however, couldn’t care less about the work that sat in front of me.

          Then it occurred to me. For over a dozen years, I had crashed into July and relaxed. In Chicago, school ends in late June. There was the full speed rush to finish grades and records, and pack your room in the stifling heat. The room had to be in a state that the custodians could empty it easily to redo the floors. If it wasn’t, you were likely to come back to your things jumbled in the middle of the room which meant hours of work and under-the-breath swearing in the stifling heat putting it back together before school started.

          This push towards the finish was after 10 months of working six days a week and, usually, 60 hour weeks. Teaching was intellectually, physically, and emotionally draining for me. Every year, regardless of the group I had just sent to third grade, I was ready for a break.

          So, I steadfastly took July OFF. The only exceptions were for mandated training. I needed that month to refuel, to process those events of the last year, to read novels, and maybe, hopefully, dance. I didn’t do anything “teacher related” until August steamed in. Then I’d start planning for the next year, write curriculum, go to my classroom and start unpacking, changing boards, sort the library, and gear up for my next adventure of second grade.

          This year after not teaching, I was surprised to find myself in July mode. I tried to fight it but it was stronger than my resolve. So, I let it take me outside of my day-to-day routine. I took my mom to lunch, bought a treat at the bakery where my niece works, stopped and visited my sister at work. I travelled to Michigan twice, floating in the armchair on sunny afternoon, or figuring out how to kayak alone in our two man kayak.

          I loaded my car with birthday presents for my beautiful 25 year old Elena, drove six hours, and took a half-hour ferry ride to Washington Island, Wisconsin which is now her home. I slept in an inn overlooking Green Bay. The water there switches from bright blue to teally green to steel gray depending on the light. Huge flocks of pelicans float on the water. The trees are the rustling leaves and deep aromas of birch and cedar. I walked the shore, had cookouts, and ate breakfast each morning in a restaurant.

          While driving to the island dunes with my sister’s family, a passing truck shouted and asked if we were looking for a cow. This caused my brother-in-law to stop and back up to them. The couple in the truck explained that sixteen head of Angus had wandered away. If we saw them we were instructed to “just call it in.” Off the truck wandered to search for the cattle leaving us to wonder who we would call if we spotted a cow at the dunes. My sister, Nora, joked all day about seeing “Cow, cow, moo-cow, cowwy, moo cow.” This chant seems to be destined to be a new family anthem.

          One early morning, I rode the “car wash” ferry to the back to the peninsula with Elena and her boss. A car wash ferry means the waves were so high they splashed over the side of the ferry and drenched the vehicles. The sun was so bright, rainbows played in each wave. We sat huddled in jackets and sunglasses and discussed the Beatles, Searching for Sugarman, and concerts we’ve been to.  Once back on land, we rode down the highway through coastal towns, windows open, singing.  I sat and watched my daughter sell bread and tasty scones, and mini brownie-mocha cheesecakes at the farmers’ market on the peninsula (a.k.a. Door County).

          On the drive back to Chicago stopped for a walk at the Chicago Botanic Gardens. It was 4:30 p.m. and I was avoiding "rush hours," a period much longer than an hour. I was exhausted after nearly six hours on the road, so I wandered from garden to garden finding benches in beautiful gardens to perch on and recharge my body’s batteries. I repeated the process in conifer gardens, formal gardens, and finally a remarkable, enclosed garden filled with chartreuse foliage and eggplant purple flowers.

          A teenage boy in a wheelchair reached out to take my hand as I exited that spirit-lifting enclosure. His face split into a white smile as he introduced himself as Jordan. He shook my hand over and over until his mom reminded him to let go. It made us all laugh in delight. I told him I’d been driving all day and offered him the opportunity to finish the drive for me. He readily accepted but his mother said it was just too scary of a thought. I shrugged and held up my hand for a high five. Jordan shakily smacked my hand and we said our good-byes. I was destined to finish the trip without my driver.

          When I was at home, I did work a couple of days. I revamped my to-do-list, or more officially, my flowchart. I half-heartedly completed a couple of tasks on the list. I had lunches and dinners with friends. Sometimes I had both on the same day. They were full of laughter which was a nourishing as the meal.

          There was a week of family which included a large party, and a night of nine guests, five adults and four kids, sleeping over at my condo. There were two nights where my four year old grandson insisted he sleep with me in my bed. (He takes his half of the bed out of the middle.) He and I explored the Field Museum of Natural History to see dinosaurs with fresh eyes. His souvenir was a dinosaur grabber who munched pretzels into crumbs on the drive back to Iowa. I could only laugh at the ingenuity of it.  What a bad dinosaur!

          I sat on the deck of my son’s home in Small Town, Iowa and ate my breakfast of zucchini bread and a fresh Michigan peach selected by my grandson at my neighborhood farmers’ market. A swallow swooped overhead in a large, lazy C then flapped rapidly behind the honey locusts. Bees and cabbage white butterflies worked the garden of cosmos and zinnias. They were unaware that July is for soul work only. Perhaps for them, it is soul work.

          I’m home now for the last few days of July. My car is full of beach towels to return to Michigan and the dinosaur’s pretzel crumbs. My soul is full of friends and family, newly minted memories and joy. It’s almost August and it’s time to get back to work. I’m ready.

What did you do to rejuvenate yourself this summer?. 

July  summer break, vacation, Washington Island vacation  summer break teaching teacher second gread