Sunday, September 10, 2006
The existence of these seemingly endless beaches out at the western edge of land is the saving grace for what would otherwise be a less-than-inviting town. St. Petersburg itself has a distinct quality of landscape. One drives along the main thoroughfare and tries to decipher the mysterious architectural codes of a culture forced inside by heat and insects and thunder storms and hurricanes. Is that a gas station? No, it's an art gallery. Is that a supermarket? Nope. A church. We find the hidden gems slowly, for they hide them well here in western Florida. Noah is becoming his own kind of naturalist of late. "Bumblebees," he explained to me after watching one buzz around for a while, "Daddy, the bumblebees ate their broccoli at night so they are really strong."
We have been convincing him to eat his vegetables at night by telling him how strong they will make him. It is important for him these days, to be strong. It is the high virtue of the three-and-a-half-year-old, to be strong. Noah has started gymnastics with Coach John here in town and in addition to talking his ear off throughout the entire class - "Was that a good one, Coach John?" or, "Those bouncey things are for the big kids, not for the little kids, right Coach John?" - he gets the coach to tell him he's strong, "Was that a strong one, Coach John?" Maxim continues to enjoy school; she is begining to work on phonics and writing and dates and time. She asked Marcela to buy her a watch so she could begin learning how to tell the time herself. She also started ballet at the Ballet Academy two blocks from the house. She practiced her first and second positions for days.
There is still an ongoing transition issue, however. Whenever she comes home from school, and often when we come home from visiting with others, she and sometimes she and Noah, behave horribly. They talk back, they hit, they yell at us, they disobey, they scream. We think a lot about adoption in these moments. Just kidding. But getting from being in a social situation to being in a private situation at home seems trying, or perhaps, the social stuff is trying and then we, the folks, pay for it when it is over. Nevertheless, Maxim is growing up quickly. She gets her own cereal in the morning and gets dressed all the time by herself.
She misses her friends in Massachusetts. But as she plays more times with Iris and Becky and Maggie and Alexandra and Emma and as she finds more in common with some of the girls at school, she seems to be settling nicely into the rhythms of our new life. I promised clouds, and there were plenty this week again. They towered on the horizon, grabbing the eye, pulling the imagination as they create well-needed afternoon down pours. Without them, this is a desert, this verdant peninsula, this Florida.
I had my first week of classes this week. It flew by, but also did not. It felt nice to be beginning. The waiting was starting to wear badly. I presented an introductory and first
real class for all three courses. The introductions fell out on Monday and (earlier than I anticipated on) Tuesday. I was busy, but I succeeded at remaining relaxed about school. The students are earnest, so far. In the first time through any course as a
professor, you feel like you are driving at night without your headlights on. There is a familiar road ahead, and you know your vehicle well, but the curves are impossible to navigate.
There is no worry about getting to your location, but you move with extreme care so as not to careen off the road altogether. I am advancing cautiously, feeling the road as I go. We found a delightful Italian restaurant in Gulfport last night. We ate fish and lasagne under a palm-frond roof as the sea breeze cooled the evening air. Our life is settling into regular rhythms, it seems. The semester has begun.
The existence of these seemingly endless beaches out at the western edge of land is the saving grace for what would otherwise be a less-than-inviting town. St. Petersburg itself has a distinct quality of landscape. One drives along the main thoroughfare and tries to decipher the mysterious architectural codes of a culture forced inside by heat and insects and thunder storms and hurricanes. Is that a gas station? No, it's an art gallery. Is that a supermarket? Nope. A church. We find the hidden gems slowly, for they hide them well here in western Florida. Noah is becoming his own kind of naturalist of late. "Bumblebees," he explained to me after watching one buzz around for a while, "Daddy, the bumblebees ate their broccoli at night so they are really strong." 
We have been convincing him to eat his vegetables at night by telling him how strong they will make him. It is important for him these days, to be strong. It is the high virtue of the three-and-a-half-year-old, to be strong. Noah has started gymnastics with Coach John here in town and in addition to talking his ear off throughout the entire class - "Was that a good one, Coach John?" or, "Those bouncey things are for the big kids, not for the little kids, right Coach John?" - he gets the coach to tell him he's strong, "Was that a strong one, Coach John?" Maxim continues to enjoy school; she is begining to work on phonics and writing and dates and time. She asked Marcela to buy her a watch so she could begin learning how to tell the time herself. She also started ballet at the Ballet Academy two blocks from the house. She practiced her first and second positions for days.
There is still an ongoing transition issue, however. Whenever she comes home from school, and often when we come home from visiting with others, she and sometimes she and Noah, behave horribly. They talk back, they hit, they yell at us, they disobey, they scream. We think a lot about adoption in these moments. Just kidding. But getting from being in a social situation to being in a private situation at home seems trying, or perhaps, the social stuff is trying and then we, the folks, pay for it when it is over. Nevertheless, Maxim is growing up quickly. She gets her own cereal in the morning and gets dressed all the time by herself. 
She misses her friends in Massachusetts. But as she plays more times with Iris and Becky and Maggie and Alexandra and Emma and as she finds more in common with some of the girls at school, she seems to be settling nicely into the rhythms of our new life. I promised clouds, and there were plenty this week again. They towered on the horizon, grabbing the eye, pulling the imagination as they create well-needed afternoon down pours. Without them, this is a desert, this verdant peninsula, this Florida.
I had my first week of classes this week. It flew by, but also did not. It felt nice to be beginning. The waiting was starting to wear badly. I presented an introductory and first 
real class for all three courses. The introductions fell out on Monday and (earlier than I anticipated on) Tuesday. I was busy, but I succeeded at remaining relaxed about school. The students are earnest, so far. In the first time through any course as a professor, you feel like you are driving at night without your headlights on. There is a familiar road ahead, and you know your vehicle well, but the curves are impossible to navigate.
There is no worry about getting to your location, but you move with extreme care so as not to careen off the road altogether. I am advancing cautiously, feeling the road as I go. We found a delightful Italian restaurant in Gulfport last night. We ate fish and lasagne under a palm-frond roof as the sea breeze cooled the evening air. Our life is settling into regular rhythms, it seems. The semester has begun.
