School-year daily schedule:
Get up, feed dogs, have prayer time, eat breakfast, get dressed, leave for school. Teach all day. Come home. Change clothes, maybe go for a run, eat dinner, relax a bit or do some grading, go to bed.
Summertime daily schedule:
Get up, feed dogs, have prayer time. Go for a run or bike ride. Take a shower, eat breakfast. Then what? It’s only about eight o’clock, so what do I do with the rest of my day?
There is much to be done. This I know. Laundry, mowing, cleaning. Checking on the garden. Reading and planning and preparing for next school year. Writing, or at least trying to get into the groove of writing. Knitting, mending, organizing. But it’s unscheduled, unregulated.
My parents arrived the afternoon of the last day of school, and we worked seemingly every hour until they left five days later. We planted strawberries and irises and sunflowers and petunias and zinnias. We weeded a sidewalk and a patio and around the air conditioner and along the fence. We cut up old lumber to use as kindling. We moved gigantic railroad ties so that we can try to re-grow the lawn where people had parked and spun tires in mud over the winter months. It seemed I never stopped moving while they were here; they may be in their seventies, but my parents are workhorses.
A few hours after they left, I was zonked out in the recliner.
Without them to keep me on my toes every minute, I can get more brain work done. Budgeting and school work and writing are easier when I’m alone. But it’s also easier to get a little sidetracked, to be a little lazy. It’s the same trouble I have every summer.
Or maybe it isn’t trouble. Maybe being a little lazy in the summer is what I need. After all, I tend to have 50-hour work weeks when I’m teaching, so perhaps a bit of unstructured time will rejuvenate me. It’s possible that living without a schedule for eight weeks will refresh my soul and energize me for the school year to come.
It’s just that getting used to it is the hard part.