still crashed

My laptop is probably dead. Now at a pricey internet point just to let you know it could be awhile. Sorry!

More later.

Oh, and Miche, I assume you had enough projects. But will think of more since you asked.

Baci.

Projects for the masses

Before I begin delegating your tasks, I will take a moment to say read The History of Love by Nicole Krauss. Think of it as a reward for the endeavors I’m setting before you.

Now, on to business. I’ve already asked my father to write me a poem every week. I know, it seems drastic, but he is retired and really, what else is he doing other than wasting his life playing card games and irritating my mother? And my mother, well, she gets to write me a letter or email every week telling me something about her self or life that she has never told me before. Both tasks should be interesting and no, I’m not sharing so don’t ask. Well, not sharing yet, maybe one day. I know how everyone loves the Padgetts, but this for now is a family deal.

Duncan, well the only thing I’ve ever asked in the past is that he find happiness. So he still must do that, but I think I’ll also ask him to complete the family photo albums that have been pretty much abandoned since about 1976 (if my memory serves me well). Also to cut way back or entirely quit smoking. I think its time. Also, well, naturally take care of the Bobs (but I don’t have to say that, do I?). And keep reading philosophy, someone in this family needs to develop their brain to its full potential. And write me what you discover; maybe I’ll learn something.

Adrianne, I want you to thank yourself everyday for changing from the person you were 10 years ago. And I also want you to write me.

The rest of you, oh, and I know who you are, you have to give me recommendations for reading, stimulating scenes of life there, you have to take care of each other, drink a glass of wine once a week (unless you are an alcoholic or have some other thing that prevents you from doing that i.e. medicine, pregnancy, etc.) then you have to taste something as chameleon-like as wine. Your guess is as good as mine, maybe chocolate? Let me know if you find it. Oh, wait, still not down with my missives . . . watch movies, especially non-blockbuster types, eat popcorn, contemplate why we love spring so much as it swells around you, and if you haven’t kissed anyone with passion in the past 2 months, then by all means, go out and do it.

As for me, well, I’ll collect your assignment upon completion (isn’t that enough?). Thanks and good luck!

Stone and water

It’s raining here now. For those of you who haven’t visited, rain here in Florence doesn’t have too many options for escape. Naturally it wants to get to the river. I like to think that eventually it does. There is so little green space though and no earth to receive, the water just runs along the streets. It gathers in the drainage system, often clogged by discarded cigs outside of bars. Grey water puddles reflect the surroundings, sometimes appropriately. And no, these are not the kind of puddles you would want to splash in as a child (or as a rain-loving adult.) Everything gives the guise of sadness.

But that is just the surface. Like all good rain, it is still about cleansing and nourishing. I think this one is washing away this strange winter. All of the grime, doubt, stress slowly making its way to the river. The Arno, where so many wishes, love tokens, and secrets get thrown. And all of the negative too, why not? And the rain keeps coming, watering us for more.
Teaching is going well and getting fun. Life is still shifting and changing and doing what it is supposed to be doing. Hope the same it true for you all. Lots of dreams lately. Everyone is visiting (at least sub-consciously). Tutto bene.

Verba volant, scripta manent

“The spoken word flies, the written word lasts.” Sorry, not Italian but Latin and that may be wrong, please correct me. Not that there is anything wrong with spoken, nice to hear a voice and be in the moment so to speak, but there is nothing like pouring over and over the written word. So, for those of you that can, I’ll say you should go and find my former poetry classmate’s recently published book of poems, God Bless the Magicians. His name is David Higginbotham and naturally if you click the title, I put in a link to the Amazon connection. I don’t think he reads this blog, so it will be our little secret. And in full disclosure, I’ve not read that book myself yet, but he sent some other stuff to me he has been working on and it re-awakened that thing inside me that says, “wow” words are powerful things.

Still teaching, hoping for some more classes. I’m incredibly lucky when it comes to meeting great people. I may be poor, but I’m rich, you know? Just had dinner with my newest friend, Samantha, and then we walked around listening to the various street performers. Drums here, singing there. Seeing the Arno reflecting the night light and crossing the Ponte Vecchio talking about old loves — well, that is one basis for friendship. The rehashing of the past and the contemplating the present.

The day was too gorgeous to be indoors last Thursday, so we skipped Cezanne. Maybe tomorrow. Boh. (Have I explained “boh”? If not, it is the Italian version of “eh, who knows”.) I’ll try not to go a whole week again, but a girl can get busy.

The wall

On the way to the Serristori Hospital in Figline Valdarno to teach class, I was struck by more stone walls. There they are again, grey and brown in what is turning out to be a spring rain. Walls. Fencing people out or maybe fencing them in. They match my mood. Today was a day of climbing out of exhaustion and even the setting of my classroom— in a building that pre-dates America by about 400 years, with walnut cabinets full of books and, you know, piazzas, arches, all of that — couldn’t get me too revived.

Luckily the students are nice. Of course, this group hardly speaks any English. I felt relieved when I taught them how to write today’s date correctly and the day they were born. That took 2 hours; well, also present simple tense and present continuous thrown in. Va bene. Of course, then I stood in the rain, waiting for a train (but not on a plain in Spain) for 30 minutes, 30 minute train to Santa Maria Novella, 20 minute bus ride to Santo Spirito. For some reason, I thought of Laura Ingalls Wilder taking a sleigh to the first class she taught. Was it a sleigh ride? I think so.

The problem is sleeplessness. It hit me last night. I’m blaming it on the sweet that Umberto and Lexie brought me back from Sicily and too much sugar before bed time. Either that, or it may be that I’m officially illegal. My return ticket has lapsed, some friends are getting on to me about things like permission to stay documents, visas, etc. But most of the people tell me it’s ok. Naturally, I’ll investigate and probably enroll into a school to get some kind of visa; but also Rob Brezsny is reminding me to try and make money. All of these walls. Hopefully more time to crawl over them.

But now I must succumb to the wall of sleep that is mounting somewhere behind my eyelids. And tomorrow, the Cezanne exhibit. Now there is an eye-opener.

Teaching

After all of the fear and nausea before teaching, it went well. My first students are 3 ladies about my age and they seem enthusiastic. I gave them lots of homework, which I’m certain will get grumbled about. The thing is, I have to speak very slowly. That is the key. Shouldn’t be hard for a Southerner, but it is. Repeating myself slowly, I think of how it helps me from the other side of the situation. If an Italian will just slow down in their rhythmic language, pattern leads to comprehension.

I’ve had a bout of homesickness,  specifically, a craving for a hamburger. In lieu of a good burger, last week I went to 2 movies in English, The Departed and Babel. One aggressively violent, the other subtly so. And yes, it helps, in spite of the context. Now I’m reading The Memory Keeper’s Daughter. It feels emotionally manipulative, but I wouldn’t discourage others to read it. Not yet. But, I’m reading it for a book club I’ve joined with some other ex-pats and that will be an outlet. The thought of discussing these things over wine in my little neighborhood, its subject matter so far away from the place that I’m in; somehow that is comfort.

And yesterday I had a conversation about which is better to have, love or understanding? I’ll let you guess which one I said and feel free to say which you think is better.

More classes next week which require train travel. Details to follow as experience occurs.