Today I initiated two beautiful plants into my classroom: one Zebra plant and one hanging Ivy. Zebra is not very happy to be transported through so many climates. His leaves are saggy and one of the veins has a crease--which is not good for the whole photosynthesis party. Ivy is quite happy to be in a classroom and she's twining her arms around my bookshelves.
I talk to my plants. Because they won't let me have animals.
My mom said I'm living backwards: I'm doing the old-cat-woman-who-lives-alone-and-talks-to-plants in my twenties. Maybe when I'm eighty I'll wear halters and bikinis and dance around on tables with my fists in the air.
Wait. I did that at nineteen.
Hm.
I live in a spiral and not in a line.
But my students like me--just. Fine.
So far I've gotten everyone to laugh through the Missouri Compromise and the Compromise of 1850 and the general period leading up to the Civil War. Which I count as a great accomplishment.
I have not, however, been able to infuse the older students with the same passion I feel for the WWII era. Maybe because nothing's blowing up yet. Tomorrow I'll stage a debate and make them all pretend they're either Truman, Stalin, or Churchill. Or was it Truman Lenin and Churchill?
John Lennon?
:)
I may have found the solution to the problem: figure out who the heck I'm supposed to be teaching about. And drink more coffee.
Last night I sat around in bed with my toes poking out from under the covers and listening to Anna Karenina on tape. It was bliss.
It's raining still and the snow melts
into my shoes in the morning,
and God keeps splattering his Tears across
the window-panes.
I like it when He laughs so hard,
He Cries.
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