She walked into the classroom, put down her briefcase, and wrote her name on the chalkboard. I was watching her -tried to figure out how to pronounce her name correctly when she turned around and greeted us all.
A mother repeatedly called upstairs for her son to get up, get dressed and get ready for school. It was a familiar routine, especially at exam time.
“I feel sick,” said the voice from the bedroom.
What are you a “natural” at doing?
I can see colors that are not there. I can look at a piece of furniture or a room and I can “see” how it should look; it’s like I get a vision. I can talk about painting a room purple and I actually visualize it with everything that’s in it. Hard to explain, but it’s good for my line of work now.
Finally, they are going to widen our horizon and offer now new online classes, especially for educated people, who still use the old common sense. All guess what? All ages are welcome!
Even after so many years, I still remember one assignment in school. Our teacher gave us each a different postcard of a famous painting and we, the chosen ones, were suppose to write an essay about it. I was not a happy camper. “Why did I get such a boring piece?” The painting was “Der arme poet/The poor poet” by Carl Spitzweg and I just starred at it.
I remember the last day in school, like it was yesterday -it was 35 years ago. I had spent the last 9 years here at the boarding school, so far away from home and it felt bitter sweet. We all were excited, children and adults were running around like chickens. It was time for our theater play, afterwards the nuns and our choir would sing for the last time, before it was time to part.
I was a great student, loved school and was a fast learner. Went to the the highest school the Gymnasium, had good grades 1-2 (A-B) no drama at all…until I decided to learn English as well. I mastered Latin and Old Greek, spoke German and Italian from an early age on. English would be just a walk in the park, such a simple language…I had been told.
