Rainbow Morning

I saw this promise in the sky before I rolled away to work this morning:

Red and yellow and pink and green

Purple and orange and blue

I can sing a rainbow,

Sing a rainbow,

Sing a rainbow too.

A Sunday Night, Like Many Sunday Nights to Come

Sitting here, blogging as procrastination. Avoidance. That's nothing new.

I'm trying to hold on to the last shred of this weekend before the new week comes pouring in, drowning me in its tide of sheer existence.

I like teaching, I do. I like the little details of being a teacher. Freshly sharpened pencils, post it notes, seating charts, gesticulating while walking around the room, hoping my word seeds will plant themselves into my students' brains and that little knowledge seedlings will sprout. I like answering questions that show curiosity about the world. I like giving out star stickers for correct answers and participation. (You'd think high school students would utterly shun the very idea of star stickers, but you'd be surprised.)

But the one thing I despise, the one thing that makes me want to curl up into a fetal position in a corner and die is grading papers. And I have a million and one students. Take me now, sweet Jesus. Take me on home. The papers mock me, daring me to make an insignificant dent.

There's a flying saucer of insecurity that constantly hovers over me. I don't have it together. I'm grasping at loose ends and more sprout before I have time to tie them. It's daunting. I'm doomed to slogging through. I'll never be a hot knife through butter.

Sometimes the cool, soothing genie in my brain says just a day at a time. You can only do what you are able to do. It looks nice typed out. It sounds reasonable out loud.

But tomorrow I'll unlock my paper-decorated door (an attempt at morale-boosting festiveness), and step into my chilled room. There will be desks, a podium, a tardy log, a clock. These are concrete things.

There will be a sea of humanity in the hallways which will come flowing into my room. Here we are now, entertain us.

Call: Buenos días, clase.

Response: Buenos días, Señorita Smith.

Invitation

What: Miss Señorita Smith's Detention!

Where: Room 127

When: August 27th from 2:55 p.m. sharp to 3:40 p.m.

**Failure to attend will be an office referral! Gum scrapers provided!**

After

the end of a long week, to sit down to an enormous hunk of chocolate cake accompanied by a tall glass of milk.

Come, Lord Jesus.

Miss Señorita Smith

"Miss Señorita Smith, um, are you black or are you mixed with somethin?"

"Miss Señorita Smith, how long you was in Spain?"

"Miss Señorita Smith, how come they got that upside down question mark thing?"

"Miss Señorita Smith, I don't wanna fail Spanish. I got to graduate."

"Miss Señorita Smith, you liked the kind of food they had over there?"

"Miss Señorita Smith, what kind of music is this? What you said? Flamingo?"

"Miss Señorita Smith, do you listen to this kind of music in your car?"

"Miss Señorita Smith, I don't know what that MEAN."

"Miss Señorita Smith, ooh, I know! I wanna go first!"

"Miss Señorita Smith, is it going to be like this everyday? It be boring."

"Miss Señorita Smith, it be fun in here."

7th period

was a zoo today. This cannot continue.

I'm not the yelling type. I'm just not. Why would I get myself all worked up because of your foolishness? Not this chica.

Were some parents called today? Yezzir. That should nip this puppy in the bud.

Orange Spice Tea

I go through tea phases.

Phase one: Chai tea.

Phase two: Green tea.

Phase three: Lemon ginger tea.

Currently: Orange spice tea.

I hate the fact that my body won't let me sleep in. I'm so programmed to waking up early that even on a lazy Saturday morning I can't get in a few extra winks.

My to-do list. Oh, my to-do list.

This is what I do: Hope for impossibles. Then, if the impossible turns, for lack of a better word, plausible, I acquire a nervous, indecisive aftertaste.

I finally got a new phone. I had had my old phone since 2005. It's not the latest and the datest. I mean, I use my phone for calling and occasionally texting. That's it. I guess it's nice that this one has a camera which I might use and a bunch of other capabilities that I probably won't.

One thing I haven't done yet that I will do today: Use some mango mandarin body scrub.

I wonder: What kinds of other people have Curious George as their computer wallpaper?

Flamenco

A handsome, eyebrow-pierced young Spaniard returns to his job at the cybercafe on a lonely corner in Salamanca.

Every once in a while, his thoughts turn to a quirky American girl with downcast eyes who came into the cybercafe one summer afternoon about two years ago. She sat sullenly, the only one there that day. He had some modern Flamenco on in the background. Suddenly, she inquired about the group playing, and he offered to make her a CD full of the music. Tears welled up in her eyes and she said she wasn't ready to leave Spain. She didn't want to go back to the States. He smiled and shook his head. What a silly little sentimental girl. He gave her candy and told her to keep her head up, that it's better to go through life smiling than crying. He gave her the CD, but not before he wrote "Flamenquito: music from Salamanca for a friend" on it. He then sent her off with his email address, more encouraging words, and oh-so-Spanish besitos on both cheeks.

Little does he know that the music on the CD he burned for her now gets its wear in a high school Spanish classroom thousands of miles away from his lonely corner. Students unaccustomed to such plaintive wailing, staccato raps and claps, and raspy guitar enter a new world for a few moments. Some, ever searching for an excuse, complain that they don't understand the words. "Maybe not," the girl, now a teacher, says, "but you can feel it."

Interview

Interviewer: So, how long has it been since you've been back from France?

Interviewee: Umm . . . let's see . . . it's been a little over a month now.

Interviewer: So, what's it like to be back? Do you miss it? Do you see yourself going back?

Interviewee: It's okay. I mean, I do miss certain things about it, but frankly, I was ready to come back to the States. That's not to say that I wouldn't like to go back to France. I would. It's something I'm considering. I just don't know when or how or under what circumstances. Sometimes I wake up with France on my mind. Often, it will bring me to tears. I think maybe, if I do go back, I should let enough time pass so that I don't feel like I'm slipping back into the grooves of my already lived French experience. When I go back, I want to go back anew.

Interviewer: What do you miss the most?

Interviewee: If I had to choose one thing and one thing only, I would say the Loire River.

Interviewer: You've truly lived a world-traveling life, haven't you? You spent years in Italy as a child, you spent time in Spain and learned Spanish, now you've spent time in France and you've added a second foreign language to your repertoire. What's the next step?

Interviewee: (laughs) I wish I knew. What I know right now is that I need to work. Thankfully, I've gotten a job as a Spanish teacher set to start next week, so I'm focusing on getting prepared for that. So, I guess I can say that for at least a year, the next step has pretty much been settled for me.

Interviewer: What is it that you want to do? If you could choose the perfect situation, what would it be?

Interviewee: (sighs) That's such a broad question. I don't know. I don't really know. I guess I just want to be where God wants me to be. I can't go wrong with that, can I?