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.