http://cinziamazzamakeup.com/?x=viagra-generico-in-farmacia-senza-ricetta-pagamento-online-a-Verona It’s 8:30 p.m. on a Monday in mid-September and four longtime students of mine are wrapping up the first lesson of a new Fall session. To the shifting of chairs and rustling of papers, Vida, a retired French teacher, passes out fresh produce from her garden to everyone in the room. Suddenly, “cebollas” (onions), “lechuga” (lettuce), “ajo” (garlic), “ejotes” (green beans) and “albahaca” (basil) are being tucked gingerly into bags amongst binders, pencil cases and Spanish-English dictionaries and the classroom, for all of two minutes, smells like a summer afternoon. It’s a lovely end to the evening, one we’ve spent discussing “el verano” (the summer), the remaining few days of which the students will be honouring by answering questions on their now basil-perfumed worksheets.
cialis generico da quando As I gather up my vegetables, I glimpse a pile of wrappers at my place at the table. These are from the chocolates which Margaret, another student, brought us from her trip to Paris. Each wrapper has a tiny picture of a French landmark on it and I make a mental note to save the wrappers in my collection of interesting things from classes past. My thoughts as I leave are simple — of gratitude, of summer endeavors and of appreciation that these four women have continued to take classes with me over the years.
http://cinziamazzamakeup.com/?x=vardenafil-originale-Abruzzo Vida’s vegetables and Margaret’s chocolates make me think of the above-and-beyond generosity of all my students in the past two decades. It has been more than enough that they’ve come to class with open books and open minds and the guts to tackle a new language with a teacher who cuts no slack for the faint-of-heart when it comes to speaking. So the fact that they’ve come to class with treats-for-all, copies of recipes, photographs and memories pieced together in basic Spanish is — well — simply “la olla de oro al fin del arcoiris” (the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow).
dove comprare il vardenafil 20 mg But then, there are other gifts …like the heirloom bassinette a couple delivered to our house when I went into premature labour with my daughter in the middle of a fiesta for three Spanish classes. Like the meals and food baskets which appeared when I had newborn babies in the house. Like the honey from an avid bee-keeper, homemade Christmas ornaments and souvenirs from Latin American adventures. Someone even brought an Ecuadorian singer to class once, giving us the gift of live music. There have been paintings and poetry, some of which I have up in the classroom now. There have been letters and kind words when my loved-ones have died. There was a cactus plant from an 87 year old student called Charles who seemed to know the name of every plant on the face of the Earth and who brought his dog to class on occasion. Charles still sits to the right of me in every class because, in Spanish, está muerto and death is just a transitory state, a matter of opinion.
cialis generico 5 mg costo In the beginners’ class when we study the verb “tener” (to have) and its uses, we practice the expression “tener miedo” (to have fear). I always use myself as the example, look at the class and say, “Yo tengo miedo de mariposas. Tengo miedo de criaturas con alas” (I’m afraid of butterflies. I’m afraid of creatures with wings). If I have a class of eight, the reaction to that is usually sixteen raised eyebrows. One year, however, the reaction was different. With Kerry, a specialist in birds and butterflies in the group, the mood was more one of ‘oh – but they’re so beautiful – that’s too bad’. The following week, Kerry came to class with a cage. In the cage was a branch bearing dried leaves.
http://cinziamazzamakeup.com/?x=comprare-viagra-online-senza-ricetta “¿Qué es eso?” (What is this?)
source “Es la crisálida de una mariposa monarca.” (It’s the chrysalis of a monarch butterfly)
acquistare viagra online generico 50 mg a Venezia ¿Por qué me la traes?” (Why do you bring it to me?)
acquistare viagra generico 200 mg a Milano “Because I thought if I brought you a chrysalis, you could observe its progress, release the monarch once it’s free and let it go — your fear.”
source link Thanking him, I put the cage on the piano by the big windows at the front of the house. There it sits for several weeks, facing East, subject to the morning sun with me monitoring its progress dubiously from the kitchen, praying that I’m not alone when the butterfly emerges. But the universe has a sense of humour and Kerry has a mission so, of course, I’m alone when the monarch breaks free.
I take my coffee, sit on the piano bench and 39-going-on-5, watch the orange and black wings push their way, glistening, into the morning light. With three children at school, the house is music-to-my-ears quiet. In silence, I watch the butterfly slip from its sheath and unfold the wings I’ve feared for who-knows-how-long, perhaps since a former life. And in those first few minutes of the butterfly’s new stage, I realize that I’m no longer afraid. No tengo miedo. When the kids come home for lunch, we take the cage outside, open the door and watch as the monarch flies away. This is a particularly meaningful moment for our young family as the monarchs leaving this part of the continent in summer arrive in my husband’s home state of Michoacán, México at the beginning of November and are believed to be the Mexicans’ loved-ones’ spirits returning in time for the Day of the Dead. The monarch butterfly has linked my husband’s and my geography physically and spiritually for eons and Kerry, aware or not, teaches me that wings are to be held in high esteem, not feared. His kind act also means I will be lying for the rest of my career when I teach “tener” and say “yo tengo miedo de mariposas”.
As I end this entry, another use of the verb “tener” comes to mind. It’s “tener suerte”, to have luck. Yo tengo suerte. This is not a lie because, whatever waits around the corner, there will have been a cactus in my kitchen and photos of a newborn in an heirloom bassinette. There will have been fresh basil on my table and, at my desk, sweets from Paris, France. And every time a monarch passes, I will have admired it unflinchingly and thought about a man called Charles who, sometimes, brought his dog to class.
You can find more information on photographer, author and presenter Kerry Jarvis at http://www.kerryjarvis.com/ and on the facebook page for BUTTERFLY GARDENS OF SAUGEEN SHORES.