Helsingor with a slash through the o

Helsingor bicyclesOriginally uploaded by nonsonoitaliana

I have had too many cups of coffee today in an effort to feel in control of something, anything, and I am now completely strung out on top of being completely exhausted.

 The children worked me to a pulpy mess today, and I will be here at the school until late trying to make more English command cards (they suck them up at an incredible rate, the older ones) and figuring out how to continue the third part of the weaving project (which exploded today), finish making jam (with berries two of the staff decided were poisonous and provoked this comment from Jenny Marie on the phone: “Sometimes don’t you just wish you were alone?”), engage the child with autism, direct the child who doesn’t work without someone standing over him (oh, wait, there are a few of those), and give some new lessons… all at once, of course.

There were children romping through the hallways, hanging over the balcony, tying strings to rocks (that’s the weaving part), picking the “poisonous” berries, fighting with the “poisonous berries,” arguing in Swedish about who had to clean up the potatoes, doing math on the floor, sleeping on the couch, writing newspaper articles on the computer and then I-don’t-know-what on the computer… and probably millions of other things I didn’t see.

 So. Last weekend I went to Helsingor, Denmark. That’s Helsingor with a slash through the o, but the keyboard doesn’t have that. There was a Montessori “celebration” for the 100 years, and Jenny Marie, among others, gave a talk. It was all in English. Parts were inspiring, others were off the wall, but mostly it was just fun to hang out with my co-teachers and be in different city for a night. Helped keep me from loneliness for at least a day. We ate too much and drank too much wine Friday night, and the location of the conference was a bit too plush for us mere teachers.

Despite my belief that I know my p and qs pretty well, something was wrong with me that night and I managed to use all the wrong wine glasses, knives and everything. And of course I use my knife and fork differently than everyone in Europe anyway, and probably talk louder and laugh more loudly than anyone else. Lord knows what else I did to carve “American” on my head!

Off to make materials…

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