Week 0: Introduction
I have just come home after 3 days of teaching at a March Break camp for kids. I am tired and sleep-deprived to the point of silliness but my heart is full. I was also part of the organizing team, so my day began whenever I came down for breakfast and ended when the kids went to bed at 10, leaving me time to slip off for some socializing with the other instructors.
Most of the tears this weekend were tears of laughter. I was teaching Gaelic language, storytelling and drama. My students worked up skits on how Chucuillin got his name and the horse with the yellow blaze and the man who trapped death in a sack. They got round-eyed at a story about a corspe rising and stumbling through the wake-house calling, "I'm coming after you! I'm coming after you!" which turned out to be the right level of scary: not so much that anyone got the screaming heebie jeebies but enough that nobody used the four letter l word that I don't allow in my classes. They learned to count to ten: aon dha tri ceithir coig sia seachd ochd naoi deich.
Outside of classes, they danced the macarena a lot. Did you know the macarena would stand the test of time? I mean, these kids weren't even born when it was originally a craze. They played ninja and practiced their stepdancing and got homesick on the second night and then didn't want to go home the next day. They became best friends in 24 hours or less.
The instructors played a number in the variety concert where everyone got on an instrument they don't play: the fiddle teachers on the guitar and the piano, the piano teachers on the chanter and the small pipes, the piping teacher and the guitar teacher on the fiddles, and me on the harp just for fun. The we sloped off to play catchphrase, at some point deciding that the losing team would have to wear their clothes inside out to breakfast the next morning, which they did like troupers with pockets like flags flying. But not me, because my team won. This event amazed the kids. Adults play games, too.
I love to spend time with people who love the things I love.
Want to hear a joke?
Okay.
Ask me if I'm a grapefruit.
Are you a grapefruit?
Nope!
Most of the tears this weekend were tears of laughter. I was teaching Gaelic language, storytelling and drama. My students worked up skits on how Chucuillin got his name and the horse with the yellow blaze and the man who trapped death in a sack. They got round-eyed at a story about a corspe rising and stumbling through the wake-house calling, "I'm coming after you! I'm coming after you!" which turned out to be the right level of scary: not so much that anyone got the screaming heebie jeebies but enough that nobody used the four letter l word that I don't allow in my classes. They learned to count to ten: aon dha tri ceithir coig sia seachd ochd naoi deich.
Outside of classes, they danced the macarena a lot. Did you know the macarena would stand the test of time? I mean, these kids weren't even born when it was originally a craze. They played ninja and practiced their stepdancing and got homesick on the second night and then didn't want to go home the next day. They became best friends in 24 hours or less.
The instructors played a number in the variety concert where everyone got on an instrument they don't play: the fiddle teachers on the guitar and the piano, the piano teachers on the chanter and the small pipes, the piping teacher and the guitar teacher on the fiddles, and me on the harp just for fun. The we sloped off to play catchphrase, at some point deciding that the losing team would have to wear their clothes inside out to breakfast the next morning, which they did like troupers with pockets like flags flying. But not me, because my team won. This event amazed the kids. Adults play games, too.
I love to spend time with people who love the things I love.
Want to hear a joke?
Okay.
Ask me if I'm a grapefruit.
Are you a grapefruit?
Nope!