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.