TEACHER STUDENT TEACHER LINEAGE BLOG
On Thursday, I had lunch in Chicago with my teacher. She gave me the first copy—that had landed in her hands—of her book, her new novel. She did her thing that she does, letting the book fall open to a page, to a sentence, and letting that sentence be the inscription. She wrote for dear dear Heather, “This is what the natives call the other Florida.” (You? Your smile?
Love.
I love that quote. I see all my writing as a love letter to Florida. And I love that open parentheses. That is how I want to live my life.
I poured out my heart to my teacher and asked for wisdom. And her response was: you can’t know.
And she talked about the class she is taking, and how lovely it is to be a beginner, to have a wonderful teacher, to be a student, to be starting, at her age, anew. And I kept saying to myself: remember how to be this way, remember how to be this way. And I can’t stop thinking about how she, my teacher, has never looked younger—she seems younger and stronger and more energized and free than when I first met her, twenty-five years ago.
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Then, on Saturday in Chicago, at a table very near the Thursday lunch table, my students had lunch with their teacher. Me. Katarina the luminous one brought a book of mine and I signed it for her, using, of course, my teacher’s method. Her message was you must decide. She said yes and no.
And we ordered wine, though it was barely past morning and we gossiped and splendored and celebrated our loneliness and rejection and despair and joy and we made up names for the group of us like The Monkey Fates and dreamed of being a band or being Elena Valle. And A. talked about her students and it was amazing to us how the great teaching is exactly the same as the good writing: a free fall into deep wisdom, the source is always there, it’s just like play.
And Katarina said she was stuck. And I said what I know to be true for myself, my teacher: it’s time to take another class.
So I am looking at language classes in Mexico because Destinos isn’t working. I need people. I need students. I need teachers.
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Perfect. I got a post card announcing the publication of Janet’s book and on it was a luscious stamp of a tropical fruit. I was so struck by the stamp I ran off, bought some, then realized I had no post cards. So I went to my dear local book store where I found post cards by a friend and artist which were made, color-wise, for the stamps.
So I thought of you and Janet. She does send ripples through the universe. So do you.