Yes, I’ll have moments of too much time on my hands i.e. the sense of not doing enough, of creeping to a standstill. Yes, I’ll do things like staying in bed until the mental imagery grows stale, and coffee beckons.
Yes too, I’ll do things like watching old cartoons instead of appraising great documentaries for the next showing (in fact, I’ll do both, but don’t interrupt.) Yes, yes, yes, I’ll let the brain hum. I’ll pause. I may even nap, here and there. Of course I’ll miss the children. Yes? I’ll miss them. Yes, but not now. Two. Weeks. Off.
How to catch the wildness in little Sara’s eyes, hair and body language. The other girl’s cutting put-downs and cackling laugh. They’re best friends, except when they’re not. Yesterday, they weren’t. Take one Palestinian plus one Italian-raised Moroccan girl. Exciting times over a math exercise. Moments of me staring straight ahead in disbelief; others of keeping the verbal fireworks verbal. Others still, of getting the homework done, girls? Homework? Sums?
Do I mention the following hour with the ten-year old? Spent, yet again, in getting those ornery numbers to yield their identity, and keep it. (Extra challenge: in French, sixty is soixante, seventy is soixante-dix; eighty is quatre-vingt and ninety quatre-vingt-dix. If you write quatre-vingt the way it sounds, you get 4 20 or 20 20 20 20, depending on where your mind’s at. Let’s try that one more time, dear.)
Outside my window, the sky is a lazy grey. Hurray.
I set aside a scene last night when I couldn’t get the Tagus right. In terms of wave direction and choppiness, as seen from the shoreline across from Lisbon. I have the color of the water right – at least, in my mind – but not the right description for it in words.
School break also means I can leaf through books of photography until words click together in the right order. Long, slow feeling of contentment. (I’ll get nervous again soon enough.)