Highlights

So, yet again there has been all kinds of craziness (good and bad) that has made me too lazy to ever come and write about it here. I'm bad at keeping a blog. Sorry.

I continue to be too lazy to write about things properly, so instead I'm going to record the highlights of the past couple of months in photos. Yay for laziness!

So. We teachers returned from winter break all full of energy and ready to start the million new courses we had planned for January, and, when they had finally started, Reggio dumped a million tons of snow on our heads. This made it difficult to get to the abovementioned courses, because the school cars are just barely more powerful than golf carts, and possess neither snow tires nor snow chains... nor really anything to help them operate in the snow. It's very difficult to make them start moving, and equally difficult to brake once you've managed that.

Thus commenced a three week period of quasi-constant anxiety about cancelling courses, hoping colleagues were managing to avoid car accidents, etc.

As evidenced by the above photo, though, the snow was aesthetically pretty nice. Reggio, congratulations on being photogenic even under a ton of snow.


Then it was decided that we should use the snow to go skiing in. I had never been skiing before (aside from one experience when I was a young-ish child, in which I was clipped into a pair of skis, but, lacking both any kind of initiative and a teacher, did not actually manage to go anywhere on them except by stepping sideways; fail) so this involved my ever-patient colleague skiing backwards in front of me so that he could hold my hands and drag me down the mountain. And by mountain I mean "hill with the gentlest incline you've ever seen".

Nonetheless, by the end of the day, I was pleasantly sunburnt and had managed to ski down the baby slope several times without killing myself. Not pictured: the part where I nearly fell off the ski lift and was dragged up the mountain holding on with only one arm. (Mountain still refers to the hill that is just barely a hill.)

Then some good weather came. We explored the castles of Canossa (above) and Rossena (below). Canossa is lovely because you can climb all over it like a little kid and imagine that your are defending it from invaders or whatever. If my brother had been there, we would totally have been making arrow-shooting noises (whatever those are) and reinacting an epic battle.



The castle of Rossena (above) is more difficult to get into, so we just admired it from afar.

On another fine day, we climbed up the Pietra di Bismantova (weirdest-shaped rock ever? I think possibly), which involved some scrambling on a slippery still-snowy path (we miscalculated the season just a little, and discovered when we got there that the paths were still snowy... oops) and then a lovely picnic lunch on the top.

Scossa

I've just managed to blow-dry my hair and am gathering a few last things before leaving for work when a big truck drives by my apartment building, rattling the windows.

Before they can stop, a high-speed frecciarossa train goes down the Via Emilia...

Just kidding. (No trains go down the Via Emilia, and while trucks make themselves felt when they go by, they usually do not actually rattle the windows.)

No, an earthquake has come to Reggio Emilia.

Never having felt one before, it takes me a few heart-stopping seconds to figure out what it is, and another few to figure out what to do: run outside! no, would probably fall down the stairs. hide under the bed? no, full of suitcases under there, and doesn't seem that sturdy anyway. equally, the kitchen table is pretty small and rickety looking. doorways, then? saw that in a movie once.

And so I stand in the doorway of my bedroom while my building shakes back and forth, the old windows rattle loudly, and I wonder how long it's going to last.

I suppose it doesn't last that long, really - under a minute for sure, but certainly among the longest minutes of my life thus far.

I call my boss, the first responsible adult that comes to mind and also the last person in my recent calls log, as soon as the house is standing still enough for me to retrieve my phone. I sputter into the phone for a bit, and she mentions that earthquakes are not typically dangerous in this region.

Yeah. Except that they possibly have the capacity to induce heart failure in previously healthy 25-year-olds, but whatever.

I finish dressing and head to work, passing one of the local high schools on my way. It has evidently been evacuated, and all of the children have crossed the street so as not to be standing in the shadow of their five-story high school. They are now standing in the shadow of the equally large municipal theater. This seems like dubious logic to me, but whatever.

I am always searching for good conversation topics in my first lesson on Wednesdays, but today I am in luck:

"Did you feel the terremoto?" one of my five students asks me, grinning.

"Earthquake," I correct automatically before starting to splutter about it again. I ask them for advice about what exactly one is supposed to do in the case of an earthquake. (Run down three flights of stairs to get outside? Under a table? Doorway?) There is a slight difference of opinion. Two votes for "run outside asap" because it's the official company protocol; three votes for "stay at your desk and continue working unless the building is actively collapsing" because... well. Unofficial company protocol, I guess.

Hm. Not very helpful. We discuss the relative merits of this plan as it pertains to me in my house rather than them at their all-important desks, and it is concluded that I should avoid running down the stairs, but rather hide under a table in my apartment.

I reflect that all of my tables are from Ikea, and thus of dubious strength. Particularly in the context of the fourth floor collapsing on them.

Most other students throughout the rest of the week are in the "run outside if you possibly can" camp, recommending that I keep my keys, phone, and shoes near the door. Except for one person who tells me that I should not under any circumstances go on the stairs, because they are less stable. So we're back to the Ikea tables.

My last student of the week has the best news so far.

"No, no, your house won't collapse," he reassures me in his best paternal tone. "Houses in this region are built to be safe even in earthquakes." He spends some time discussing the various architectural precautions that were taken in the building of his particular place of work. At the end of this discourse, though, he is apparently in doubt of something:

"Wait... where do you live, again?"

I describe the location of my house. He is a native Reggiano and thus knows every inch of the city, including the exact street number of my house. A cheeky grin spreads across his face.

"Okay, your house... maybe collapse," he concedes.

I narrow my eyes at him and torture him with the present perfect for the remaining forty minutes of the lesson. As he is leaving:

"Straniera," he tells me seriously, "your house probably not collapse." We're back to reassuringly paternal. "But, if it does... you call me. I help you. Ok?" Cheeky grin.

Don't you wish you had my job?

Still here!

"So, then you should probably email the head of HR and see if we can push the start date up one week..." my phone is wedged between my shoulder and my head, and I am half listening to my boss and half struggling to pull a pair of tights on without injuring myself.

"Uh-huh," I agree eloquently.

I grab the nearest pen and scrap of paper (a theater ticket from six months ago; I'm not sure why I still have it) and scribble down 'email - head - date', which will make exactly zero sense to me in about five minutes.

"Then also that thing with the invoices... you know, from Teresa? With the big summary thing?"

Interestingly, this actually makes sense to me. I'm unsure at this point whether that's a good thing or a bad thing. I switch my phone to the other shoulder, dutifully add 'Teresa, summary' to the back of my defaced theater ticket, and move on to zipping up my boots.

Moments later, the boss and I have finished our morning update session, my theater ticket contains a list of seven things to accomplish, and I am fully dressed. All there is left to do is blow dry my hair, and I'm good to go.

8.02

I stride to school, pondering the issue of the invoices. It's a nice enough day, which, in Reggio from November to about March means 'light fog - you can still see the buildings on either side of the street as you walk down it', rather than fog like 'wait, where did the other side of the street go?'

8.22

I arrive at school. Only the cleaner is there, which is nice: this means almost forty minutes of quiet, un-interrupted time in which to get some stuff done before the secretary and potentially the other teachers arrive. I could even sort out the problem of the invoices!

Just kidding. While I was walking to school, one teacher has messaged me to say her son is ill, so she can't make it in today (four lessons to find subs for... ready, set, go!) and another teacher to say that his student is MIA and can I please find out where he is and why he isn't in his office, ready to have a lesson?

Never mind about the invoices.

8.47

Subs found for three of the four lessons. Apologetic email to cancel the forth composed and awaiting the secretary's excellent Italian proof-reading skills. Missing student located (he's apparently in Prague, and forgot to cancel his lesson, che bello) and missing student's teacher somewhat pacified with the assurance that he will indeed be paid for the lesson.

Invoices still not sorted out.

9.12

Secretary and two of the teachers arrived. The secretary knows nothing about the invoices. The teachers both want to know when the new courses will be starting. The head of HR of the company where the courses in question will be taking place has not yet answered. A third teacher calls in and wants to know if she can move her Monday morning lesson to Thursday, her Thursday lesson to Friday, and her Friday morning lesson to Monday afternoon in order to have Monday mornings off so she can go swimming. The head of HR of a different company calls to ask when we can email him the results of all the students' (there are 80-ish of them) progress tests. I cup my hand over the receiver in order to ask the teacher in charge of monitoring progress reports about this, and it transpires he forgot to send the email reminding everyone to give progress tests. So there are no scores to email to anyone, because there aren't even any tests yet.

I tell the HR guy I'll call him back later.

9.27

My first student walks in.

"Today, we talk about string theory!" he declares happily, waving a sheaf of papers at me.

"Great!" I muster as much enthusiasm as I possibly can for string theory at 9.27 in the morning, scribble down a bunch of stuff onto a series of three post-it notes, paste them into my Sacred Notebook of Everything Ever Related to the School (volume 5) to be dealt with later, and accompany Mr. String Theory into a classroom.

10.32

"Okay, have a good day!" I wave physics guy out of the door and try to gauge from the secretary's face if we have made any progress on the invoice situation (of which I apprised her via post-it when I first got in).

My student thanks me again for a great explanation of string theory, and I manage not to laugh. (NB: Lest there be confusion - we are still a language school, teaching mostly English, sometimes some other languages. None of us are experts in string theory.) However, he knows all about math and physics. I know all about the meaning of "nevertheless", "amenities", "concede", and most of the other words that trouble him in his research articles. So between the two of us, we can muddle through whatever he wants to read on any given morning. (I still know nothing about String Theory, despite having spent an entire hour "explaining" it to him.)

5.57

Three lessons and two (super fun!) hours in the office later, I'm gulping down a piece of erbazzone in the first two seconds of down time I have managed to achieve since getting dressed this morning, and surveying the situation.

The invoice problem is well on its way to being solved. A million emails have been sent. It's looking like the courses at Company #1 will be able to start on time after all. The teachers have all been notified that they are to give progress tests this week at Company #2 and get the scores to us as quickly as possible. Some missing books have been found. We have tested another potential private student and managed to wedge them into the timetable. This evening's children's lessons are just wrapping up, the parents stuffing their kids into coats and dragging them out of the school and the teachers sinking down onto the chairs recently vacated by the parents for a few moments of well-deserved respite.

"Anyone up for pizza tonight?" says one of them. A chorus of enthusiastic assent goes around the office.

"What time does everyone finish?"

"7.30"
"8"
"7"
"now"

We take a moment to glare good-naturedly at whoever is already finished with lessons for the day before assessing the earliest time we can possibly be stuffing pizza in our mouths (probably around 8.30 for today - not bad) and decide where to meet. I head off to a nearby industrial company for my last lesson of the day - a middle-aged man who speaks pretty good English but tends to use it mostly to make inappropriate commentary about his female colleagues. And English teachers.

8.07

Length of lesson: 1 and a half hours
Number of sentences uttered by student using the present perfect correctly: 3
Number of sentences uttered by student using the present perfect incorrectly: I lost count
Number of inappropriate comments on part of student: 13
Number of times teacher laughed agreeably at inappropriate comments: 12

Which means if we cover the present perfect again for the next eighty-billion lessons, he might actually learn it, and meanwhile, I mostly managed to refrain from getting all eyebrow-raising on him. All in all, a success.

8.46

Pizza with rucola and pomodorini. A birra piccola. Animated discussion of Jon Stewart's latest antics.

10.04

We all have to be up early tomorrow and really it's too cold for gelato, but we're stranieri, so whatever. We all crowd around a table in the one gelateria with inside seating, and discuss the relative merits of pistacchio and nocciola (hazelnut) gelato. (Conclusion of this debate still pending, stay tuned.)

11.53

In bed. Barely have the energy to set the alarm for the next day. Colleague with sick kid sends another text to say kid is still sick, please cancel all lessons tomorrow as well. Vague impression that I should be irritated, but no energy to actually carry it out, let alone answer the text.

- - - - - - -

All this to say that I've been a little busy the past few... months. But then eventually I got tired of seeing such a somber post at the top of the page every time I happened to think of it, so here I am. Also, having only about 6 months left in Italy, I feel like eventually I might enjoy having a somewhat more complete record of... things. So here I am.

Ten

It was a beautiful morning at the end of the summer, with just the barest hints of fall beginning to flicker into the air. The sky was blue with those puffy white clouds like in a child's drawing, and the air was still warm, though you could tell autumn would be on its way in a few weeks.

I was in art class, gamely attempting to carve a flower shape out of a small square of copper sheeting with a wooden tool. I am (and was) terrifically awful at most artistic things, but was soldiering on anyway, chatting with the three other people in my Tuesday morning class, probably faintly worried about my "advanced placement" history class (this was a Big Deal in sophomore year of high school), but generally enjoying a relatively peaceful morning.

It was, really, the kind of morning that you picture when you get nostalgic about your childhood. Filled with back-to-school feelings and those oh-so-typically high school concerns. Will I pass that history test? Will I ever be good at the multiple choice? Geometry is a nice surprise, but what if my writing isn't good enough for the AP? Blue sky, and the smell of new notebooks, and the feel of concentrating exclusively, in that way that you can when you're a child but is so much more elusive as an adult, on what is happening under your carefully focused hands. Because we were children then, for all that we felt so grown-up in our second year of high school, with our skirts trimmed higher and shirts defiantly un-tucked.

It was a lovely morning. And then the loudspeaker came on, and it wasn't.

A casa

I'm deliberately leaving the title open to interpretation. I've just returned to Reggio: am I back home, or back from home? It's increasingly difficult to tell. This is kind of a satisfying sensation, in that I can be all 'yeah, I've made a foreign country feel like home!' but on the other hand, does not particularly bode well for eventually leaving here and going... home. Other home. Gli stati uniti. Whatever.

(Deadline for said return to the States has been set for July 2012. If I am showing no signs of packing up and heading out by then, I give you full permission to take action and intervene.)

Whoever you may be. Um... or not.

Anyway.

So, the highlights of this summer started off with a couple of days in London with a little side trip to Oxford, all of which were delightful. First time in the UK = complete success.

Next, four weeks at home (NJ home) with the parents and the brother, working in ye daycare of olde (olde meaning two years ago). This time, little little people - ages 2-12 months. Adorable! This meant spending my days rocking other people's children to sleep, aiming very small amounts of food into very small mouths, and strapping very small people into very small diapers. I suppose it depends what sort of person you are, but I always find it delightful. Think about it: paid to sit in a rocking chair with a warm little blob gurgling and smiling in your lap. Win! Also, very ego-boosting: you will rarely get smiled at so enthusiastically as when you rescue an infant from their crib, post-nap, and also I am declaring myself the Nap Whisperer. I will sell my secrets to tired parents for a goodly sum. (NB My secrets do not involve drugs of any kind, don't worry.)

Other notable things from time in NJ:

1. Ethnic food is delicious and I don't understand why Italy can't just get some. I'm willing to travel to Bologna for it, but I'd rather not trek all the way to Milan. Can someone make this happen please? In particular, Indian, Mexican and Thai. Thanks!

2. Borders has gone/is going out of business. Epic fail, America. This is a tragedy of such proportions that I am unable to speak about it, eloquently or otherwise, except to say that I have spent so many excellent hours in Borders' stores all over the place that I do not know how I will fill my time when I return to the US permanently.

3. Apparently you can now order food in movie theaters. No, seriously. You push a little button and a person comes to take your order, and then they bring you food. You put the food on the little table next to you, which is conveniently housing your very own bottle of ketchup. That way, you can spend your time squirting ketchup on your food instead of watching the movie, and thus promote both obesity and the creation of sub-par films at the same time! Another fail there, I'm afraid, America. Sigh.

4. This list is a bit depressing, so I will move on to the rest of the summer now without adding to it...

Next stop: south of France for some quality time with the mother. Highlights include the beach at Argeles (where a complex system of ratings including water clarity and fineness vs. prickliness of sand was devised in order to select beaches to return to in the future), the old walled city of Carcassonne (amaaazing!), and a brief trip into Spain to check out the beach there, and the fact that they speak Catalan. Did you know that if you speak French and Spanish you can just about read Catalan? Excellent discovery.

Finally: a day or two in Paris to say hello to the grandmere and Paris itself, before returning to Reggio to get back to life as usual. In Reggio, it appears to still be summery, despite today's downpour. Good work, Reggio. I'm proud of you. If you could maintain these toasty temperatures for another couple of weeks, it would be very helpful in allowing me to pretend it's still summer and thus much appreciated.

Grumpy face

Reggio. Really. We need to figure something out with the heat/mosquitoes situation.

Yesterday, I finished work at 10.26. That's pm, y'all. (I am such a mess that I just said y'all. I'm not from the south. I can't even tell whether I meant it ironically or not. That is not right.) In any case, that is sad in and of itself. Then I dragged myself home, managed to make a salad (read: throw some stuff in a bowl and pour too much vinegar on it, thus making it not at all appealing). By 1am I was in bed. I considered this not too bad, because, really, a couple of hours between finishing work and getting to bed seems like a reasonable thing.

Yeah, well. You'd think.

Then I waited a very long time to fall asleep. It was hot, and there were mosquitoes and possibly also imaginary mosquitoes, and also my tummy is currently an awkward shade of sunburnt. Sad times all around.

That's how I found myself sitting at the computer at 3.30am, having decided that the thing to do to induce sleep would be to get cracking on a translation I have to do and also eat cookies.

Advice: do not try to translate contracts at 3.30 in the morning. Does not work well. Also, the cookies were perhaps not such a good idea. Back to bed circa 4.00, with a mild stomachache, trying to figure out the correct form of "please find attached" for a contract.

I think I fell asleep shortly after that (yay contracts! this is why law school and I would not have worked out at all, probably), but then it was 6.15 and I had to wake up again.

Two hours of sleep on a Tuesday morning? Not so good. My students had better be alert and fascinating this morning, or else I will probably kill them. I do not have the energy to muster anything even resembling patience.

Reggio, tonight can you please just cooperate a little? A tiny bit more air and a tiny bit less mosquito craziness? Thanks.

Al mare

A few weekends ago I went to the sea with one my Italian friends. You should try to go to the sea with Italian friends sometimes, because they have done it many times before, and are experts. They can help you find the perfect place to go to the sea, and then the perfect place to eat, to put your beach towel, to go swimming, etc. Also, they can teach you some important life lessons. For example:

1. Don't go swimming after eating. Seriously, don't let the water get you if you have food in your tummy. I still haven't ascertained exactly what would happen to you, but it's definitely bad.

We have arrived in our charming Ligurian village after a bit over two hours of driving, and have had a coffee and then wandered around, and finally chosen the island opposite as our sunbathing destination, and have therefore acquired some focaccia to eat once we are over there, and have made our way over to the island and snagged some beach chairs. It has been fun, but also we left early-ish for a Sunday morning and I didn't really eat breakfast, and now we have chairs and also focaccia. In my mind, the situation is perfect.

"Wait!" says my friend. "Don't you want to go swimming?"

"Um... sure," I say, unsure what the obstacle to that is.

"Well, then, we can't eat yet! Then we'd have to wait three hours."

Oh, right. I had heard something about that. I grew up thinking it was 30 minutes, but whatever. My friend takes pity on me.

"Are you hungry?" she asks.

"Well, a little," I say, thinking I'm about to get a reprieve, "I mean, I didn't really eat breakfast or anything."

"That's perfect, then!" exclaims she, "this is the perfect time to go swimming. Your stomach is empty. We'll eat after. It's better."

I wrap the focaccia back up.

2. The sun chair must always be facing the sun, exactly. I suppose because otherwise you will get a crooked tan. Either way, you must make this happen, even if it means getting up and shifting them around in a dance-y little circle every hour and a half or so.

3. Thou shalt not stand still in the water. Because then you'll get cold. From standing in the water. Even if the sun is beating down on your back and the water is warm like bathwater.

4. Thou shalt dry thy entire self off immediately upon exiting the water. Otherwise, the sea breeze will get you when you are still wet, and then god knows what might happen. This is particularly applicable for the back of your neck.

5. Thou shalt not let the sea breeze get you past a certain time of day, for the same reason. I suppose at that point, sea breeze becomes night air and then it attacks the back of your neck and all manner of badness happens to you.

On the other hand, you may be surprised to learn of a few things that are completely fine:

For instance, it is considered absolutely safe to jump off of boulders into the sea, even if there appear to be other boulders lurking below the surface. Similarly, you are welcome to slide down a steep-ish slope of rocks and pebbles mixed together and occasionally splashed by water so that some weird kind of scum grows on them and they become ridiculously slippery. This is fine.

Additionally, if you want to let your elementary-school-aged children monkey around on a playground that is sandwiched between a main road and the sea while you hang out on your boat ten minutes away, that's fine too.

And, my favorite: do not worry about the sun. The sun will not hurt you. All it will do is make your skin a beautiful shade of brown. Or possibly lobster red, but whatever. No one will think anything of it if you vaguely dab on a droplet of spf 15 (good luck finding anything stronger than spf 20, by the way) and then spend the entire day roasting under the midday sun on your chaise longue, rolling over periodically so that all sides of you get done equally.

Just as long as the back of your neck isn't touched simultaneously by the evening breeze and any kind of moisture.

Above - bottom left: ridiculously slippery rocks; middle right: San Pietro in Porto Venere.