A bit about my home away from home (I have actually spent the night in that classroom ‘cause of The Blizzard so that statement is more true than ever!). It is a lovely space, blue sky and puffy clouds painted on the walls, 3-D tree in the corner, bright, cheery colors, and organized just the way I want it (well, the organized part is ITP – In The Process). Its only drawback is, it is tucked away in the lower level of the old wing of the building (by old, I mean the inscription on the outside says 1938 – pretty darn old).
Don’t get me wrong. I love old buildings. I am a fanatic about beautiful older homes with their sturdy structures and beautiful interior hardwood touches. But you and I know that with old comes drawbacks like outdated wiring and plumbing and roof and furnace issues.
So when I was awarded the first grade room last December, I immediately began planning “my room” and all that I wanted to do in there. I have completely enjoyed that process and truly feel as though the room reflects my personality. But my hovel on the prairie has its shortcomings too.
This is the dungeon part. In terms of cell phone reception, its like the thing is wrapped in kryptonite. I just can’t figure out what the deal is down there. Sometimes a stray sound wave will lose its way and accidently wander into my room causing one bar to appear on my phone. (Joy! Quick…who can I call)? But then that same signal will realize its has entered Forbidden Territory and will skeedaddle back to the neighboring town where it knows its supposed to be.
If I want to shoot a text off to someone, I have to play tag with a signal until I find the sweet spot of reception. I walk around the room holding my phone out in front of me like it’s a Geiger counter and I’m doing a sweep for radiation. Oooh, I found a bar! Don’t move, Vonda. Don’t move…..don’t breathe, don’t even let your heart beat until this message gets sent…. doggonit, I lost the signal! Sigh….. Ok, try again, drop your left shoulder a little, yeah, that’s it. Now raise your right knee 3.2 inches off the floor and sing Yankee Doodle seven times….YES, I have a bar back! Message sent. Whew! It only took four minutes to find a signal this time. OK, I’m plotting coordinates for the next time so that I can find the EXACT spot. Maybe I can shave a few seconds off my best time and get it down to 3 ½ minutes. Gotta’ love the “convenience” of cell phones! Really, I sometimes think in my situation I should just keep carrier pigeons handy.
In case you think I am exaggerating, sadly, not really all that much. Just ask the locals. Our town really is the Death Valley of cell phone reception. My husband and I recently went to our nearest Verizon store to update our plan and the nice salesman showed us a map of their cell reception in the state of North Dakota. “The red areas are continuous coverage areas in the state,” he crowed proudly. John and I obediently stared at the map. Red all over the place. “What’s that tiny spot in the middle? Looks like a mustard drip.” “THAT,” he declared dramatically, “is little or no reception.” We both dropped our heads closer to the drip. “That’s our town,” my husband said incredulously. It was the only place on the map that didn’t get reception, and our town sits smack-dab in the middle. The nice salesman nodded solemnly. “Yes, I know,” he confirmed somberly, like he was at a wake for a favorite aunt. He felt our pain. Unbelievable hardship.
The draggin’ part of this rant is the set of stairs that I descend and ascend 738 times a day. Up four steps to the first landing, then down ten to my room. Back up ten to make a copy. Down again with said copy. What happens when I add a few years and rheumatism sets in? Well, maybe it will keep me young and spry to run up and down steps all day.
It only really gets interesting on the mornings when I have a bunch of stuff to haul in from the van (OK, that’s EVERY morning). So now my 4 + 10 trek includes 16 pounds of “essential” gear for the day. It’s not so bad going down, but coming back up with it at the end of the day takes a certain amount of endurance training. I must have the biceps of a female body builder by now.
So that’s my space. It’s my spot in an old building, in a prairie town, in a wind-swept state, in the greatest nation on Earth. Our little school will never be famous or become a household word, but to those of us who live and work and show up for social gatherings and even funerals in that old building, it’s a piece of Americana that is precious and quickly fading from the American landscape. Neighboring towns whose families move away and are not replaced with new blood, eventually shrivel up and die. It’s more than a little heart wrenching to drive by a shuttered school that used to be the heartbeat of the community.
We will fight to stay open and teach our children until there just are no other options. Once the school closes, the heart of the community just seems to slowly stop beating. The best nights in a small town include a basketball game with a rival town, or a spring concert complete with “lunch.” It’s less about the activity du jour, and more about the gathering of people who need a break from field planting or calving. Just sharing the commonality of life is refreshing and therapeutic. When that is gone, it changes the unity that all small towns thrive on. It causes a loss of identity that generations have taken pride in.
I love that old building. It houses my heart.
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