When walking on a
fire escape, remember!
Pigeons poop. Wear shoes.
You can add that to lessons I’ve learned already since moving to the city. I won’t go into detail—it’s too horrific to dwell on.
In good news, John and I are really and truly settled, I think. Our apartment has been slowly wending its way from disaster to home, and we can now safely call it home. Pictures are hung, moving trash is in the dumpster, boxes are emptied onto shelves, and I made cookies. It’s not going to get much homier than this.
I will say that I am not a fan of our toilet. John spent about two hours with his hands elegantly clad in my amusingly stylish cleaning gloves, digging around in the bowels of the toilet tank on Tuesday, trying to make the tank fill properly. For some reason, the little float only lets the tank fill about halfway before shutting off. If we want to flush anything as significant as two sheets of toilet paper, we have to fill our cleaning bucket in the tub and empty it into the tank. Annoying? Yes. On the upside, however, I have learned more about the plumbing of a toilet than I ever thought I would care to know. And everyone knows that knowledge is power.
Speaking of knowledge, I suppose I should mention something about that school I’m going to. So far, to be honest, I have not learned anything as pragmatically valuable as what I’ve learned just moving into the apartment. In knowledge of education and the thinking that’s going on in the field, fortunately, I have learned more in the first few hours of class than I learned in many full classes at USM. I am actually not regretting that I’m giving up all the leisure reading time I had last year—the coursework seems focused, intense, and well-supported by top notch professors.
The real benefit of the Ivy League price tag, I’ve decided, is the Teaching Fellows. I haven’t done any one-on-one work with them yet, but watching them in my “Community Partnerships” lecture was poetry in motion. I don’t know how many classes I’ve sat through where the professors had to split their attention between the lecture and writing on the chalkboard, and except for in a very few cases, both lecture and chalkboard suffered for the divide. Our professor had two TFs working with her, and the way they threw information up on the boards and switched around the boards so we could take notes while they jumped ahead and wrote on the next boards could bring a grown man to tears for the sheer beauty of the thing. The professor never had to miss a beat to look at the board. It was inspiring.
Someday, I must have minions.