We had a two-hour delay.
I'll say it again because it never happens: We had a two-hour delay. Supposedly, there was a power outage somewhere nearby and everyone knows dark buildings and students don't mix. They just equal trouble (and extra time). Which, afforded me a coffee break at Starbucks with a friend before heading to school, and a few unexpected chat times with teachers, and an opportunity to collaborate on an upcoming project with a team mate.
So, with verve and anticipation, my outspread arms grasped a laptop, iPad, notebook, glass of water, a pencil, and school key as I clicked down the tile hallway to see her. Beforehand in my classroom, I used engineer stealth to stack these must-haves. After all, last year when heading to a meeting, I absent-mindedly shut a spiral notebook in my laptop, which, in turn blackened two-thirds of my screen right where the spirals made contact. (It was a crisis of district proportion that, after sweat and tears [mine], found resolution at the hand of a Computer Fairy. Thankfully.)
But, I digress...
At an impromptu workspace created in her room, we talked about close reading, and immersion, and transference. We talked about research, and conferences, and Mary Ehrenworth. I balanced my laptop on my....lap....and took notes while analyzing media clips. We made progress. I got excited. (Nerd Girl Problem #432: Giddiness developed over really cool learning opportunity.) With one smooth motion, I placed my machine on the student desk behind me. I needed my hands to properly communicate my message.
And there it waited, patiently, until I was finished. Our talking birthed ideas that needed documentation, so I jerked backward, watching my left hand
grasp the keyboard slowly beside the QAZ
push it over to the desk's edge
feel its weight a top my fingers mid air
release it like a hot potato falling
Resting on its side, it looked like a proper L.
Eyes shut; asleep.
Devilishly dim in the mid-morning light.
Before I saw the L, I saw last fall's blackened computer screen in my mind. I felt the stress, too, of calling technology; groveling to my boss; enlisting the help of friends to troubleshoot. I imagined making the choice: no computer or paying the district for my broken one. And, here I sat, again, in the middle of the messy scenario.
Fingers flying, I called my friend at central office. She's a techno goddess. I recapped my problem between nervous giggles. "Have you tried turning it off and rebooting?"
I hadn't. That solution was too easy. Too obvious.
Half-heartedly, I powered the laptop down and then up again. A tell-tale beep announced Microsoft's presence; a district logo -- yellow and vibrant-- filled the screen.
My cheeks stretched into an ecstatic smile, my eyes danced at the thought of dodging replacement fees. They both faded, post haste, in embarrassment.
I just called my superior so she could invite me to turn off my computer.
It's like Deja vu...although this time, the Computer Fairy was Techno Goddess.