I am currently visiting St. Louis. It is Saturday morning, and I have been here for 2.5 days. I wish I had better words to describe the flurry of emotions I have felt since being here. It is humbling to realize that while I have felt St. Louis as a great absence in my life, St. Louis itself has marched on with time. The places and things that were 'mine' are still here, but they belong to others now. In some sense, this is beautiful, and very reassuring. It maintains an access point to the part of my mind which holds the memories of when I was here. I wouldn't feel such a contrast if coming back here didn't really feel like traveling back in time. My life now is so incredibly different than it was here. At some point during the summer of 2006, I morphed into survival mode in which I became 'Miss Butler,' developing a toughness which allowed me to tolerate being called dirty names, walking mouthy students home to discuss their behavior with their grandmother, and diverting attention from the window when the high school gangs showed up with baseball bats. This toughness is not something that goes away, but I haven't had to access it for some time. Returning here forces me to remember who I was, how it affected me, and how much I truly valued the experience in light of where I am now.

I visited my old school yesterday....performed my old Friday morning routine (run with Jessica, pick up treats at store for students, stop at Starbucks.) My favorite baristas were working at Starbucks, and they remembered not only me, but my drink (no small feat) as well! After an entire year we were able to catch up on the remembered details of each others lives and pretend that no time had passed. At school, I was bombarded with memories, starting with the smell as I opened the door. It was the same smell I encountered every other day- no easy name for it so I will call it the 'oh my gosh- another day, what was I thinking- I love my job- I am crazy- I'm happy to be here- I can't wait until 4:30' smell. Yes, that is pretty accurate. Anyway, yesterday happened to be the day of 'Spring Musical.' It was a great way to see everyone in one place and sneak up on unsuspecting students. One of my favorite students who came here from Albania last February speaking not a word of English (and whom I secretly referred to as my henchman and employed as line-monitor due to his ability to single out talking students and organize people 'just so' so that the line was straight, silent, and seemed to march where I led them...;), now has a full vocabulary, is an excellent reader, and no longer gets to monitor lines because of his tendency to exercise his new use of words at all times. I bestowed candy upon my former classes, asked and answered, questions, and felt immense pleasure of being able to be the superhero who delivers treats and then flees (as opposed to performing damage control whence the sugar high hits.)

I have to run, but there is one more story worth sharing before I go. I feel it is a tribute to both the creativity, and mischievousness of a young mind, and the frustration and horror experienced by those trying to deal with it. Alright: Armondo. Armondo is a very precocious 4th grader whose father was a famous singer in Bosnia, but now devotes his time to cultivating Armondo as a junior rebel and ladies' man. There are many Armondo tales, but the most recent (2 days ago), and my personal favorite is this one. After being disciplined in his classroom, Armondo had decided he'd had enough. He got up, left his classroom, and proceeded to the teacher's lounge where he removed honey and syrup from the refrigerator. He then proceeded outside to the playground where he 'honey and syrup-ed' the sliding poles and monkey bars. I will leave the images of what happened to your imagination, but let it be said that the pre-school teacher did NOT have a good time prying here little people off of the equipment and spending the morning 'de-sticky-fying' their clothes. (Prologue- At some point Armondo was witnessed lurking and giggling, and turned over to 'Ms. King, the custodian,' who armed him with a pail and rag, made him clean up his mess, and then turned him over to the principal who sent him home.)