Don't Bet the Rent

One of the scariest propositions I can think of, is starting out life in the work force. Just the thought of clocking in for an eight hour shift, regardless of what kind of job, is enough to make me queasy. Granted, I was part of the work force from age 14 through 54, so that’s a quick forty years, though the last job I had that required punching in, was back in 1982.

Though retired, I still put in full days of work, in a wide variety of venues, but I am the one who pencils in the job descriptions, and I am the one who determines the schedule. I base this on how my knees, shoulder, toe and back are feeling. Sounds like a chant: Knees, shoulder, toe and back-bend all you want-just don’t crack!

When I am by myself, I work longer hours than ever, as I have been the past two days. What with Gluten-Free Mama sashaying over to the coast on Mother’s Day, and then to the ‘Ville to hang out with her former teaching buddy, Debbie, yesterday, I had couple of days to myself.

My primary focus yesterday was sprucing up the house and preparing a couple of home-grown chickens for the fam. I also put in several hours out in the orchard, and ended up by doing some spring cleaning with my rose bushes.

The long and the short of it all, is that I have determined that today should be an “off” day. I’m scrambling to think back to the last day off I had, and my failing memory is having a good laugh at my expense. Whatever. If anything, it reinforces my point-I rarely pause for the cause.

However, GF Mama is exhausted after two days of being off the mountain, and has made a reservation for one in her recliner. I am inspired by her resolve to not move, and have decided to join her. Well, not specifically in her recliner-just in her goal of not moving. It's good to have lofty goals.

I am rereading Jack Schaefer’s “Shane,” certainly an enjoyable sojourn back to a time and place when men also rarely took days off. I will wait on GF Mama, hand and foot, maintain the home fires and hope that the forecast for showers is accurate. As much as the sun has been good for everything, a few May showers would go a long way.

Returning to my opening statement, I see friends make announcements about starting this job, or that one, and of course, it is a good thing. For them, that is, not me. I can’t turn back the clock, nor do I want to, so it’s a moot point, but if I found myself back in a position where I had to show up at a certain time, take my lunch an eternity later, and then work until the magic hour, I’d slit my throat.

And that’s not even taking into consideration what my boss might be like. Of course, teachers are more or less their own boss, until such time as they rock the boat. Then, at any time of the day or night, the principal could stroll into the classroom, and you had better be on your game.

I actually selected this process for my personal evaluation each year that I taught. We had the choice of having our principal come in for a formal observation, which meant an entire class period while a lesson was presented, or having her come in multiple times over the course of a school year, none of the visits announced.

To some the idea of having your boss pop in might be disconcerting, especially if things are already a tad chaotic. On the other hand, since there is never any notice, there is also no stress. If you are a together teacher, far better to have your administrator see that the majority of the time your stuff is tight, with an occasional lapse, than to place all of your eggs in one basket, and have them scrambled in front of your boss’s eyes.

Johnny picked the wrong day to go off, and you are the one who gets written up. I never liked my odds for a one-visit evaluation, as much as I liked them for many visits. I would expect that the more competent a teacher you are, the more you might prefer the light and breezy approach to evaluation, over the more traditional, formal ritual.

Bosses never posed any problem for me, just the idea of being enslaved for eight hours, plus. It’s funny how the older I get, the less inclined I am to toe the line, not to mention less inclined to be told what to do. In that regard I am the equal of any middle schooler who ever took his gum out of his mouth, and stuck it to the underside of the table.

Tell me to stop and watch me go; tell me to toe the line and watch me kick it; finally, tell me to learn and watch me do everything in my power to disrupt the flow of information-to everyone.

Becoming ancient and decrepit has so many perks it’s hard to come up them all on the spur of the moment, but not having to clock into work every day of my life, belongs at the top of the list. OK, maybe list is being too optimistic; there are other benefits, though. You can bet on that.

Just don’t bet the rent.