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.