What A Wonderful World

When I got into ESL, I deliberately chose adults rather than teenagers or children. Not because I didn't like the latter groups but because I didn't want the disciplinary nature of those jobs. If I had wanted to be a school teacher, I would have trained as that instead. I mean, even school teachers are paid better than ESL. Sadly though, because of the dire working situation in Italy, I find myself in a teenage horror show at present. Some classes are ok but some make me miserable although I try not to let them get to me after the class has ended. I simply don't get paid enough to let the Alessandros and Eduoardos infiltrate my free time - especially since I have no holiday pay anyway.

I have one class at my local school which I refer to (with increasing love) as THE ANIMALS. To be honest, they don't upset me so much because a lot of them have never met an English speaker before but some of these classes are wild. It doesn't help that the average class has 20 plus students of different age and English levels so mostly I am trying to find common ground. A couple of weeks ago I had an epiphany at the front ( when I was staring at the board too afraid to look around at the mayhem) and I decided that as long as the kids stayed in the room and weren't wandering the corridors like crazed zombies AND no one bled or died  -then it was a win.

But this week I think I really did win. I decided to do Israel "IZ" Kamakawiwoʻole's Somewhere Over The Rainbow. The lyrics are simple and his diction is perfect - how could you not love it.

Anyway, as I first played the song I saw the students laughing at him - he is rather large - but this hadn't even occurred to me as an issue and I thought: " oh no, I'm gonna lose them before we even start." And it made me sad. Such a beautiful man. But the students continued watching and listening. They began asking questions about the urn with his ashes as it was scattered over the sea and I could see them becoming engaged. So we did a number of different activities so we could learn all the lyrics and understand what they mean and then we sang it all together. But it was after the break I knew I had won because a number of the students came into the room singing the song and bringing in their friends from other classes and asking to watch it again.

I miss teaching adults. I am better with them. But this was a lovely moment.

Solothurnerstrasse

Today I spent the afternoon in the green hills outside Florence teaching “have to/don’t have to” to some extremely soporific fourteen-year-olds. To be fair, I was borderline comatose as well, I even tried plying them and myself with espresso - and yes, they actually have such machines for the kids in these schools - but to no avail. The beginning of spring really brings out the nap in everyone.


Anyway at one point as I was leaning out of the classroom window, I heard a couple of birds chirping between some branches. And for a sliver of time, I found myself back on Solothurnerstrasse. Lying in bed, listening to the morning sparrows. Half aware of the silvery dawn light and the quietness I had found inside myself. 
I miss that quietness. That feeling of peace and breathless joy. 
As soon as I jolted back into the present, I had this deep yearning to back there all those spring time's ago ... 
when I realized I had just been.

Bee back

It's almost April. How can this be(e)?
How many stories have I missed telling? How many moments have escaped me?
Today is sunny, finally. I can feel my hands beginning to thaw. Perhaps that's why I have not written. Frozen hands. I like this excuse, I think I will adopt it and bring it home.
The bees are out humming so I best go and join them.
Welcome back to me. I hope I stick around.

Being Eaten by a Polar Bear

Oh look another story

This one has been published by a journal called Bone Parade which I rather like the title of. They got the title of my story slightly wrong. It should read On Being Eaten By a Polar Bear but it doesn't really matter.

The Imp and the Bones

Unbelievable I know, but I actually have another short story out now as well.
Here it is.

It is called The Imp and the Bones and is about a village with no thumbs..among other things.  I have had so many rejections over these past months, it is nice to see something out there. I just wish it could pay the bills. 

Swinging bears

So I have been here and not been here. I promise to write more soon but in the meantime, defibrillators at the ready, I had a short story published and it was paid.

It is about a man who builds a swing over the edge of the world and I have to confess that even as I wrote it, I loved it.

https://freezeframefiction.com/read/s2-flash-fiction/swing-by-joanna-galbraith/

Fare una passeggiata

I have started walking recently. I mean obviously I have been walking since I was two years old. (Apparently I was a late bloomer. Too busy chatting!) No. What I am talking about is purposeful striding into the countryside for the sheer pleasure and exhaustion of it.
I always wear my hat which means I get many odd glances from the villagers ( What be that thing atop her head. A spaceship per chance) and a lot of thumbs up from the contadini ( farmers) for my efforts.

The best thing, by far though, is that every time I go out, a new adventure awaits me.

Sometimes I discover a new view of San Miniato.

Which is always reassuring because it means I can never get truly lost. 

Or I pass flowers and butterflies doing their pretty things.

I have met a goat farmer called Maria who makes delicious goat cheese and will let you come meet her menagerie of animals if you pass by her gates. I have also walked passed verdant vineyards and whispered thank you to the grapes.

Likewise with the olive groves.

And a field full of wild chamomile which I harvested for my night tea. 

One time I was even  tailed by a swarm of giggling, wild piglets; trotting behind me in full oink and squeal. I eventually encouraged them down a hillside out of the eye of any hunters who might fancy cinghiale for lunch.

Sometimes I happen upon  memorials to war. Always tragic, and at odds with the peaceful countryside I find myself passing through now .  One of some children massacred by the Nazis. 

Another commemorating the great battle which happened on the hills outside of San Miniato in the last months of German occupation.

When I pass ruined farmhouses, I imagine the partisans who may have hidden there. How many lives were saved and lost in the bones of these old buildings.

Often I come across one of the many first-aid boxes littered across the landscape. I always check their contents to see if they have the requisite items: bandages, syringes, tourniquets, antiseptic, medicine for sever allergies. Sometimes I leave a note if I find the box wanting.

Some days i walk so far I feel I will need to carry my legs home in my arms.

But when I get home, I always feel enriched by my stroll and I often find pirate expressing how tired I feel.

Menemen

Today I made my first menemen complete with pul biber. Culinary goddess or what?

Menemen is a Turkish breakfast dish made with tomatoes and peppers and onion and oil and eggs. You can then jazz it up with your own additional flavours. I added some feta cheese (Greek ..sacrilege I know) and some ginger.

Feeling Harika!